


The Test

by Predec2



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff and Angst, Humor, M/M, Phone Sex, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-08-11 22:05:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 73,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7909306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Predec2/pseuds/Predec2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Justin is a young man, growing up in the lap of luxury through circumstances not of his own.  He has everything he could ever want...except the one thing he wants the most. Brian is an ad executive, visiting NYC to seal a lucrative deal. What happens one day when their two worlds come together in a unique way?  Is it the book's cover that matters...or the book itself?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

DISCLAIMER:  QAF and its characters are the sole property of Showtime and Cowlip Productions.  No copyright infringement is intended.

 

* * *

_Justin loses something treasured.  Brian is perplexed._

 

  
"Will there be anything else, Sir?" 

 

Justin sighed.  "Vic, how many times do I have to tell you?  My name is Justin.  My father was _Sir_."  Vic had been a faithful servant in his father's employ for as long as he could remember, and he had always called him Justin, just like their maid, Lula, and her nephew, Emmett - one of his best friends since childhood - did.  Now, however, it appears that with the passing of his father a few months ago, he had taken his father's place in seniority, in addition to inheriting all of his wealth.

 

Frankly, he couldn't care less about all the money his father, a widower, had accrued over the years with his smart investments in stocks and bonds.  Yes, he admitted; he did enjoy the finer, more comfortable things in life, and had never wanted for any creature comfort, or any of the high-quality art supplies his passion in painting demanded.  But even if his father had been some ordinary banker or accountant or, hell, even a Wall Street trader instead of an extremely intuitive financial advisor, he would have never been one to demand formality among the staff.  He would have been happy doing all the tasks they always did quite willingly - and wouldn't have complained.

 

But by some stroke of fate, he had been born into an affluent family, and despite his mother sadly dying in labor, he had grown up surrounded by love from his father for his only child, and all the staff who doted on the golden-haired young man with the brilliant smile and sky-blue eyes that sparkled whenever he was excited or passionate about something.

 

As Justin grew into a young man of nineteen, however - a beautiful man - he was the object of admiration and stares from all the gay men (and straight women) that he encountered in the streets of Manhattan as he engaged in one of his favorite activities - walking the busy streets of New York City, visiting some of his favorite parks, or riding the Staten Island Ferry, sketchpad clutched in one hand as he drew something that caught his eye.  His father used to assure him that he could have a driver at his dispatch any time he wanted to go anywhere, no matter where it was, or what time of the day or night it was. But Justin had always preferred his freedom, independence, and self-sufficiency, even though he had been aware that even after his father's death, he had still managed to keep an eye on him by virtue of a small band of loyal, long-employed security men who observe the young man's forays around town with a discreet but scrutinizing eye to make sure he stays out of harm.  Now that his father was gone, to his consternation he learned that he had placed a condition in his will that these men would continue to be paid for their services through a trust until he was 21. So despite his wish to be on his own, they continued to remain faithful to his father, even after his death.  Vic knew it irritated him to no end, but the man still allowed it, preferring to be secure in the knowledge that Justin was safe from harm - well, at least as safe as one could be while roaming such a big metropolis as New York City.  For he had come to love Justin as much as his father had, and would never want any harm to befall him.

 

Justin had probably realized for certain that he was gay back in junior high at the exclusive Academy he had attended, when none of the girls who batted their eyelashes at him, or coyly flirted with him in hopes of being invited to the first freshman dance, were left virtually ignored; instead, a tall, dark-haired boy a year older than he had caught his eye in English class, and he had found to his shock that he wanted to invite HIM to be his date. It was then that he realized why he had never really found any girl attractive enough to ask out on a date, or even hang out with - except for Daphne. Daphne was the child of the housekeeper, Matilda, and like Emmett had grown up with Justin in the household; albeit in the separate carriage house behind the main house.  But he, Emmett, and Daphne had quickly bonded through their similar ages and fun-loving natures, and he considered both to be his dearest friends. He had never thought of Daphne as a possible girlfriend, however; or even Emmett as a potential boyfriend, either, for that matter.  But both had proven valuable a few years ago in finally explaining to him why he had felt the way that he had for the tall, dark-haired boy that he had never dared actually ask to the dance:  he liked boys.  He was queer. And, as both Emmett and Daphne had explained, there was nothing wrong with that.

 

Once that was clear to him, Emmett had even sneaked Justin into some of the gay clubs at night after his father and the wait staff had gone to sleep, even deceiving the security men that - unbeknownst to Craig Taylor - his son had been aware of all along, but had ever disclosed.  Justin had found the clubs to be exciting with their techno beats, pulsating lights, sweaty men, and the smell of just plain, heady masculinity that surrounded them.  And he had loved dancing in the middle of all those male bodies that came in all shapes and sizes - many of whom boldly propositioned him on the dance floor, whispering all sorts of dirty things in his ear that they wanted to do to him or with him, and making him blush beet red.  Only with Emmett by his side was he able to escape some of the more aggressive ones, and the entire experience had left Justin doubtful of ever meeting 'the one' in that manner.  But still, the experience had been exhilarating in a daring sort of way.

 

No, the fact of the matter was, Justin had everything a nineteen-year-old gay male could want; except love.  And he craved it, he longed for it; he thought about it night and day.  He dreamed about it in his sleep - about a tall, handsome, gorgeous man who would come and sweep him off his feet, unknowing of his wealth and only caring about him as the person he was inside, and not how much money he had.  He wanted someone to love him and for HIM to love back.  But how could he find the right one?  How would he ever know that their motives were pure?  That was the question uppermost on his mind.  Because Justin Taylor - for all the luxuries he had, and the company that constantly surrounded him - was lonely.  Lonely and starving for love. 

 

"Justin?  Something wrong?"

 

Vic calling out his name - his first name, thankfully now - brought him out of his temporary ruminations as he blinked, turning away from his breakfast to shake his head.  "No, Vic," he told him, wiping his mouth with his napkin and setting it down on the table beside his plate.  "I'm fine."

 

Vic nodded as he walked in with the tray he had been carrying, and began to stack the soiled dishes on top of it; the house was abnormally quiet at the moment.  Typically Daphne and Emmett would come bustling into the kitchen for a breakfast of their own, chirping about what had been happening in their lives.  But they hadn't shown up this morning, leaving Justin alone at the table for the remainder of his meal. 

 

"Where're Emmett and Daphne?" he asked curiously.  When his father had been alive, he had persuaded his father to dispense with tradition, and had allowed everyone to eat together, including not only his two friends, but all the staff as well, after the meal had been prepared and served.  Today, however, neither friend had shown up for breakfast like they normally did, and all the household staff had already eaten before he had come down.  

 

"Remember?" Vic told him gently.  "They decided to go to Coney Island for the day." 

 

"Oh, yeah," Justin replied, crestfallen.  He had forgotten they had asked him the other day if he wanted to come along. Actually, he would have jumped at the idea, if it hadn't been for the fact that he had an art class this morning at the New York Public Library, of all places.  It would have been the last place he would have expected to take exclusive art classes with Frederick Faberini, the noted impressionist painter.  But the eccentric artist, it seems, had developed a liking to the light-filled rooms on the upper floor that overlooked Bryant Park that were infused with stain glass, dark, rich, mahogany floors, and tall, floor-to-ceiling windows, insisting the rooms were the perfect spot for creating art. So he paid an insane amount of money to the library to rent one of the larger rooms on a weekly basis, and Justin paid an even more insane amount of money (or rather, his father had when he was alive, and now through his will) for his tutelage.  He had to grudgingly admit, though, that since he had started taking the classes six months ago, he had not only noticed his technique improving, but he had also grown to love the stately, educational icon, as well as the shade-sparkled park adjacent to it, so it wasn't exactly a disappointment to him not to accompany his friends today.  More like a part of his life:  compromise. 

 

He sighed, scooting back from his chair.  "I'd better gather my things together," he told Vic, glancing up at the ornate Tiffany clock located above the dining room mantel.  He had just enough time to catch the subway and arrive on time for his morning's lesson.  The first time his father had found out about his mode of transportation, he had appeared aghast at the thought of his son using the subway like some 'commoner,' as he had put it back then, which had made Justin laugh at the time. He knew his father was no longer around to see that his security men were abiding by his wishes, but Justin would still play the game his father had always construed, even if he was no longer there to watch over him. That made him feel a pang of sadness.  He and his father had never been what he would call very 'close,' per se, but he knew he had always loved him, at least in the way he _could_ show love.  Just once, however, Justin had wished his father could have been more demonstrative and affectionate.  It just hadn't been his way, though.

 

"See you this afternoon...Mr....uh... _Justin_ ," Vic told him with a smile as Justin nodded, pleased.  "What shall I tell Cook to prepare for dinner?" he asked. 

 

"Vic..." Justin warned him in exasperation.  "I'm not my father. I don't want to create a weekly schedule of menus.  Just suggest something to her. You know what I like, and what everyone else likes.  Surprise me," he told him with a smile.  "Just make sure she makes some kind of dessert to go along with it." 

 

Vic chuckled as Justin passed him on his way out of the room.  "Oh, that's always a given."  Shaking his head in amusement, he watched pensively as his young charge headed toward the upstairs of the penthouse, thinking how special this young man was, and wishing that - just once - another young man he fancied would feel the same.  Not a lothario at some gay night club or bar, cruising for some fresh meat and a one-night stand. But someone of substance who recognized Justin for what he was and _who_ he was:  a creative, intelligent, beautiful young man whose heart was filled with love, and just needed some lucky man to be the recipient of that love.  "One day, Justin," he murmured.  "One day you will find him." 

 

* * *

_Three Hours Later...New York Public Library..._

 

Sketchbook splayed out on the library's table, Justin studied the distinguished, wizened, old man sitting nearby at one of the other sturdy, oak tables, reading a book silently as his lips moved in sync with the words.  He stood out among the other patrons with his decidedly dapper appearance, a remnant of a bygone era when men his age dressed impeccably, no matter where they were going, be it a high-end business meeting, to church, or to the market or post office.  He was dressed in a suit and bow-tie, a crisp, white, shirt, and a fedora hat with a banded ribbon, tilted slightly at a jaunty angle to reveal a thatch of gray, almost white, hair underneath that matched his bushy eyebrows perched atop a set of piercing, blue eyes.  A white handkerchief triangle could be seen poking out of his breast pocket, and his wrinkled hands grasped the edges of the book on either side as he read, oblivious to Justin's quiet sketching from a few feet away. 

 

Justin had found him fascinating from the moment he had seen him after his class; as he often did, he would wander downstairs into the main room where the books were kept to surreptitiously observe the patrons, and see if there was anything or anyone that caught his eye for his next art assignment.  His instructor had requested a character sketch for next week's lesson homework, and this man had instantly caught his attention.  Now - his tongue peeking slightly out between his lips in concentration - his eyes darted back and forth from the man to the paper as he furiously worked on his latest sketch, focusing on every wrinkle, every angle; every line of wisdom in the weathered face.  Justin was captivated by the man's depth of character - that was what he always called it whenever he ran into a subject that fascinated him.  He always felt a bit awkward sketching someone who was unaware of it; but he always thought that was the only way to capture a candid, natural pose, and this man was a wonderful subject.

 

Sensing that the man was about to finish reading his book when his lips stopped moving, Justin hurriedly penciled in the outline of what would be his finished sketch just before - sure enough - the man stuck a tasseled bookmark between a couple of pages and slowly, almost reverently, closed it.  He watched as the man slowly ran his fingers over the top of the dark, leather covering before he reached for a wooden cane hanging over the back of the chair next to him and scooted back stiffly from the table.  Using the cane to rise, Justin watched as he slowly rose to his feet, adjusted his hat slightly, smoothed out his suit jacket, and then retrieved the book to shuffle toward the checkout counter.  He continued to watch the elegant-looking gentleman until - with his book clutched under his arm - the elderly man disappeared through the entrance and out of sight.

 

Taking time to shade in the outline of his sketch, it took Justin several more minutes of work before he was finally satisfied with his product.  He smiled, thinking how pleased he was with what he had done. He was a true perfectionist when it came to his work; if he wasn't happy with his sketch, he didn't think his teacher would be, either, and this one seemed to almost jump off the page. He thought it was one of his best works yet.  He took a moment to finish up the man's hat before finally, with a soft sigh, he closed the sketchbook and placed his graphite pencil down onto the desk, stretching his arms out in front of him and flexing his fingers to ease some of the weariness he always felt whenever he had sat too long in one place. 

 

Deciding that he had stayed long enough at the library and feeling restless, Justin scooped up his sketchbook and some library books about art he had found interesting before grabbing his coat and duffel bag.  Hefting his art portfolio over his shoulder, he was back outside a few minutes later among the bustling sidewalks of the Big Apple.

 

* * *

 

_An Hour Later..._

Justin entered the subway station near the 9-11 Museum, rushing toward the train that had just approached and would be taking him back toward his apartment in upper Manhattan.  Even though he did use the subway fairly often, normally his preferred method of transportation would be to travel on foot back to his home, but he had walked more than he normally did today, and hence he found the idea of riding the subway back home more appealing at the moment.  He grinned as he saw the familiar trio of security men frantically hurrying to catch up with him, realizing that it would be too late by the time they reached the doors to enter.  Sure enough, just as they were about to board the car directly behind his - giving them a good vantage point to subtly observe him - the tinny-sounding, familiar _'_ _stand clear of the closing doors'_ message sputtered out through the loudspeakers above him, and with a swooshing sound the doors closed a few seconds before the men could embark.  Smiling at the frustrated expressions on their faces, for just a moment he thought he knew what it felt like to have paparazzi following you wherever you went, and how free it felt to know that - at least just for a brief moment - he didn't have to worry about someone constantly looking over his shoulder.  It felt good.  It felt liberating, he decided, as he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, the slowly rocking car relaxing him. 

 

He fell asleep a few minutes later, used to and therefore unfazed by the slowing and starting of the subway car as it stopped and started to let passengers embark and disembark.  He had ridden this very train so many times before that he knew the stops instinctively, and it was almost like a lullaby to him.  His eyes closed in brief slumber, he didn't see the man sitting next to him, eyeing the expensive-looking, leather portfolio and duffel bag that sat between him and the stranger.  Nick Bonnafanti was a small-time thief, taking advantage of any opportunity he could find to snag something of enough value that he could pawn, just to earn enough income to feed his alcohol and heroin addiction.  If the blond next to him hadn't had the loops of both his duffel bag and portfolio threaded through his arm, he would have just snatched both objects at the next stop, right after the car had opened its doors, and he would have rushed off before the other man even had a chance to realize what had just happened. But for now, he would have to make do with whatever he could find.

 

An expensive-looking, dark-brown book of some type was poking out of the young man's duffel bag; the insignia on it instantly recognizable as being an Armani.  He mourned the fact that he just couldn't have the entire bag - it would have brought a tidy little sum at his favorite pawn shop, he knew - but he figured the other man would awaken instantly as soon as he tried to take it.  He would just have to be satisfied, then, with a small item this time. So with an experienced, steady hand - borne by years of practice, he slowly slid his left hand into the duffel bag and grasped the leather-bound book, his eyes darting around to note that no one was noticing, before he curled his fingers around the smooth-feeling material and deftly pulled it out before sliding it into the large pocket of his coat.  Not getting any sort of reaction from his victim or anyone else nearby, he smiled in triumph and leaned back into his seat, no one the wiser regarding his new possession. 

 

Twenty minutes later, both Justin and his companion thief emerged from the train car, Bonnafanti heading quickly in the opposite direction for fear his prey would discover what he had done. It was always that way with him; making a concerted effort to create as much space between him and his victim always helped to ensure his anonymity as well as his success.

 

Peering back to make sure the blond-haired man had gone his own way, he finally felt safe enough to sit down and examine his catch more thoroughly.  Sitting on a worn bench with his back to the marbled tile wall, he pulled the leather-bound book out of his pocket and opened it up, scowling with dismay as he realized it was merely a bunch of drawings:  buildings, people, what appeared to be Central Park, a skyline scene of lower Manhattan, and some idiotic still-life representations of statues and fruits.  Nothing that would be of value to him - or to a pawnbroker.  He knew well enough by now what would or wouldn't sell, and if he presented this to any of the various shops he patronized, they would laugh him right out of the store.  He would be lucky to even get enough for a fucking cigarette.  "Damn!" he growled in disappointment, slamming the book shut and slapping it down onto the bench.  Shaking his head in disgust, he rose to his feet in search of a new victim, spying a well-dressed, older woman standing by the platform for the next train, clutching an expensive-looking purse against the side of her body. Smiling smugly at her attempt to protect her merchandise, he ambled over closer to her, knowing that she would be an easy target once the opportunity presented itself, and completely forgetting the treasured book. 

 

* * *

 

_Fifteen Minutes Later_

Brian Kinney jogged down the steps of the subway station, muttering obscenities under his breath as he attempted to swipe his Metro card through the metal scanner, but getting an irritating buzz instead as his body rammed into the obstinate turnstile that wouldn't budge.  "Fuck!" he barked.  He normally wouldn't have been caught dead riding this damn, dirty subway, but after trying unsuccessfully to flag down a cab, he had decided getting to his appointment with a potentially important client was more important at the moment than his pride.  It had been embarrassing enough having to enlist the aid of a little old lady at the ticket purchase machine to buy a one-time ticket, but how hard could it be to swipe a damn card through a slot?

 

"It goes this way, gorgeous," a tall, willowy blonde told him with an indulgent smile as she took it from his hand and turned it the other way to re-swipe it, earning a green 'entry' message.  Brian mumbled a curt 'thanks' and scurried away before the woman decided he owed her a favor that he had no intention of bestowing upon her.

 

No sooner had he reached the correct platform for the northbound train, however, than he peered up in consternation at the flashing 'delay' message that indicated the train he needed wouldn't be arriving for at least twenty more minutes.  Sweating in the stifling underground space, he stomped over to the closest empty bench and heavily dropped his body onto the worn, wooden seat.  Sighing in disgust at his misfortune and the unpleasant smell of too many bodies and God knows what sort of other aromas he detected, he glanced down beside him and noticed a leather-bound book lying there.  He frowned at the oddity of finding something so expensive and luxurious looking in such a dank, filthy place.  Picking up the book, he ran his fingers over the smooth surface with its gold-leaf trim and the initials "JT" etched in the corner before curiosity overcome his trepidation and he opened it up.

 

The book was full of sketches; intricate and rich in detail, they filled the pages.  His eyes widened in surprise at the talent inherent in the multitude of drawings.  People, places, animals, street scenes.  There were several New York sketches of familiar landmarks:  the Empire State Building, Rockefeller Center, the fountain at Central Park, Radio City Music Hall.  But the ones that captivated him and drew his eye to the page were the character studies.  The artist had taken advantage of the vast diversity the city contained, and had found some amazing subjects to draw.  They almost seemed to leap off the page with their meticulous attention to detail, and the artist's use of shading to evoke emotion.  In short, they were exquisite, and Brian was extremely impressed.  If only his own artists at Kinnetik could draw as well!  Completely forgetting his discomfort and aggravation temporarily, he took several minutes to study each drawing until he finally was able to put the object down beside him.  "Wow," he murmured, impressed, shaking his head as he wondered where the book had come from, and who this "JT" was who had drawn them.  These put his art department to shame. 

 

The blast of a loudspeaker - heralding the approach of the delayed train he needed - caused Brian to mutter, "At last," before he rose to his feet and headed toward the platform to catch his car.  After a few steps, however, he turned and impulsively walked back over to the bench, grabbing the sketchbook and slipping it into his briefcase before hurrying to catch his train that would take him to his appointment with not a moment to spare. 

 


	2. First Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys connect for the first time. But just who is this person who has Justin's treasured sketchbook? And what does he want with it?

It was only after Brian was back home in his loft in Pittsburgh that evening - celebrating his victorious triumph over obtaining one of his most exclusive clients - that he thought about the intriguing book of sketches he had found on the subway bench.  Relaxing on his sofa with his bare feet propped up on his glass coffee table, ankles crossed, he rose to walk over to his briefcase sitting on top of his desk and sprung the locks, opening it up to retrieve the expensive-looking, leather-bound book.

 

A few minutes later, he had the book open again, one hand nursing a shot of Beam as he studied the drawings further. They were even better than he had remembered, he decided, slowly leafing through each page.  When he reached the back cover, it was only then that he saw the small label that listed an email address only, etched in gold script in the lower right-hand corner; no name or other identifying information.  He had to smirk at the address:  [_warholsprodigy@nyc.net_](mailto:warholsprodigy@nyc.net) _._

"Well, at least lack of humility isn't a problem," he muttered to himself.  His eyes bored into the email address for several seconds as he debated what to do with the book.  Should he contact the artist?  If so, what would he say to him?  Would he think he had stolen it, and try to get him into trouble?  He could simply do nothing - or maybe even take advantage of his talent to use one, if not several of the drawings, in some of his campaigns - although he knew his ethics, as well as the fear of copyright infringement, would not permit him to do that.  He was a hard-driven boss, who expected perhaps more than possible out of his employees, and he could be demanding and even to the point of belligerent when he}  
felt his employees were not giving him 110%.  But he was also well-versed in the legality of advertising, and deep down he also knew he wouldn't feel comfortable using someone else's images without their knowledge or consent, no matter how tempted he was. 

 

He sighed.  He really had no right to keep it, and from the meticulous images that had been drawn so realistically, he could only imagine how long it would have taken this person to sketch each one.  He had an inkling of just how time-consuming it could be to create all these drawings, if the artists he employed at Kinnetik were any indication - although they didn't have one-tenth the talent he was seeing in these pieces.  No doubt he or she would be missing this sketchbook by now, and there would be no way to replace it.  He knew if _he_ had lost something deemed so valuable and irreplaceable, he would want it back.  Continuing to stare at it a moment longer, he came to a decision as he swung his feet onto the hardwood floor and headed over to the laptop lying on his desk, booting it up to access one of his more obscure email accounts; after all, it never hurt to exercise caution when one didn't know who they were dealing with, and for all he knew this guy (or girl) could be a quack of some kind. To him, most creative people were a little off in the head, anyway; at least the artists HE employed certainly fell into that category.  It was a sort of creative madness in a way. But lately their 'madness' had bordered on insanity if they thought any of their designs would get past his review and actually be approved for use.  Sighing, he began to type his message, making sure to keep it short and to the point.

 

* * *

_To:_ [ _warholsprodigy@nyc.net_ ](mailto:warholsprodigy@nyc.net)

_From:_ [ _manholecover@keystone.com_ ](mailto:manholecover@keystone.com)

_Re:  Sketchbook_

_You don't know me. But I was in New York City earlier today, and found what appears to be your sketchbook.  Is it yours?  I found it on a bench in lower Manhattan at the Wall Street subway station.  If you think it might belong to you, send me a description to identify it._

* * *

 

Brian hit 'send' after pausing a few moments, wondering how long it would take for the other person to respond, and inordinately curious as to what he or she was like.  It was obvious the person was highly creative; that much was evident in the sketches.  But for some odd reason, he found himself wanting to know more.  He didn't have long to wait before a chime sounded a couple of minutes later, signaling an incoming email. Sure enough, it was from the mysterious artist:

 

* * *

_To:_ [ _manholecover@keystone.com_ ](mailto:manholecover@keystone.com)

_From:_ [ _warholsprodigy@nyc.net_ ](mailto:warholsprodigy@nyc.net)

_Re:  Sketchbook_

_OMG! You have my sketchbook?  You found it on a bench seat at the subway station?  Really?  What kind of idiot do you think I am?  You didn't 'find' it, because I never SAT on a bench seat at the subway!  You must have stolen it from me! So why are you telling me about it now?  Guilty conscience, much?  It's of no value to you, but is invaluable to me.  So how much do you want for it, and where do you want to meet?  I should warn you, I have security guards, and they will be watching my every step, so don't think you can try any kind of trick.  Hand me over the book, and you will get your damn money.  
_

 

* * *

 

Brian glowered at the audacity and outright rudeness of the sketchbook's owner.  He thought he had stolen it from him? _What the fuck?_   He had half a mind to just burn the damn thing (if he had a fireplace, that is), and send him a photo of the ashes! That would teach this Wild West wannabe to be so impertinent!  Unable to resist, and not thinking it through much, he fired off another email:

 

* * *

_To:_ [ _warholsprodigy@nyc.net_ ](mailto:warholsprodigy@nyc.net)

_From:_ [ _manholecover@keystone.com_ ](mailto:manholecover@keystone.com)

_Re:  Get real!!_

_I am the CEO of a multi-million dollar company, moron!  I don't need to go around stealing some leather-bound children's coloring book to make a living!  And just so you know, Einstein, I was in NYC on business today, but I live in another fucking state!  And I'm not about to fly back up there, just to give you your priceless book back!  You have five minutes to apologize for being such an asshole, before I take out my Zippo and use it to toast your masterpiece - literally!_

_  
_

* * *

 

Justin's eyes widened in horror as he read the last sentence; well, _all_ the words, actually.  Apparently he had made a mistake; a HUGE mistake.  He had just assumed when he got the first email from this stranger that he was some sort of blackmailer, deriving some perverted sense of satisfaction from stealing his property and hell-bent on earning a little cash for his efforts. 

 

When he had arrived home earlier in the day, he hadn't thought to look at first for his sketchbook.  It was always there; why would he need to?  But when he had gazed out his window onto the street below, and had witnessed a father hoisting his giggling son onto his shoulders for an impromptu piggyback ride, as usual his first instinct had been to hurriedly reach for his favorite sketchbook to draw a tentative vision of what he was seeing.  He thought an additional character sketch of someone completely different might impress his very particular instructor. To his dismay, however, no matter how many times he reached inside his duffel bag, and even turned it upside down to scatter the contents onto his bed, no book appeared.  It was obvious it was gone.

 

Only when this person had emailed him out of the blue, however, had he realized at least part of where it had gone.  It was only natural to assume that this was the thief - in fact, he still wasn't completely convinced that he wasn't - but his instincts told him otherwise.  If he was a thief, he certainly sounded like a very well-educated thief; albeit a pretty arrogant one.  But in an odd sort of way, he found the man's confidence impressive.  He certainly _sounded_ affronted enough when he had denied stealing it. Was it possible, then, that he really DID find it, and was simply trying to do a good deed? After all, who would return all the way back home to another state - if that was really true - and then try to blackmail him for money?  That wouldn't be very practical - and a thief would hardly spend his well-earned money (he had to snort at that phrase) for airfare.  Probably, instead, he would be out roaming the streets, a fifth of booze in one hand, and a cigarette in the other, gloating about having the good fortune of stealing an object that he could earn some money from. So he could only assume that this man was being sincere about finding the book.  Which also meant that he owed him an apology. A big apology.  Taking a deep breath, he bit his lip in thought before composing another message.

* * *

 

_To:_ [ _manholecover@keystone.com_ ](mailto:manholecover@keystone.com)

_From:_ [ _warholsprodigy@nyc.net_ ](mailto:warholsprodigy@nyc.net)

_Re:  Sketchbook_

 

_No, please don't destroy my book!  I'm sorry.  Really.  I didn't realize the book was even missing until a few hours ago, and I just naturally thought when I got your email that you had stolen it.  I realize now that I was obviously mistaken._

_That book is irreplaceable to me.  I need it for my art classes.  Please accept my apology.  I will pay any shipping costs needed to have it overnighted to me._

* * *

Justin thought for a few moments about that last part. He still didn't know this person, so he certainly wasn't going to give the man (?) his actual address.  Thank goodness the good old post office still delivered overnight packages to a P.O. Box!  He could use the one his father had for his business; his employees there knew him well, and he could call them or email them to let them know the package was on its way once he got a tracking number for it.  But how to pay for it?  "Fuck," he murmured in frustration.  Then he thought of it:  PayPal.  Surely the man had a PayPal account.   He could also use his father's PayPal business account to send the funds; as his heir, he had access to it, but had never really used it, much less sent money that way. But in this case, he would make an exception.  He began to type again:

 

* * *

_I can pay you tonight for the shipping charges to overnight, along with a substantial finder's fee.  But please don't destroy my book! That means everything to me._

 

* * *

 

Hoping for the best, Justin reread his message, before - hand tightly clutching the mouse - he hit the 'send' button and held his breath.  Would he get a message accepting his apology back - or would he get a photo of the burned pages of his treasured book? 

 

He hugged himself, rocking lightly back and forth on his desk chair, until he heard a soft 'ping' alerting him to another email.  His heart pounded anxiously as he clicked on the new incoming message to read it; a sigh of relief escaping his lips, he was unable to prevent a smile from appearing when he saw the subject title: 

 

* * *

 

_To:_ [ _warholsprodigy@nyc.net_ ](mailto:warholsprodigy@nyc.net)

_From:_ [ _manholecover@keyston.com_ ](mailto:manholecover@keyston.com)

_Re:  Lucky Fucker_

_Lucky for you my lighter was not within reach before.  Okay...magnanimous person that I am - and as a business genius who has to look at horrid attempts at art every day - I accept your apology. But I do not need your 'finder's fee.'  And I can damn well afford to overnight a scrawny little book like yours without being paid to do it. Give me your address, and I will see that you get it back...that is, if you will do me one favor first._

 

* * *

 

Justin's broad smile quickly turned into a frown over that last part.  A favor? What _sort_ of 'favor?'  His curiosity getting the best of him, he dashed off a response:

 

_To:_ [ _manholecover@keystone.com_ ](mailto:manholecover@keystone.com)

_From:_ [ _warholsprodigy@nyc.net_ ](mailto:warholsprodigy@nyc.net)

_Re:  Favor_

_Just what sort of favor do you have in mind?  I thought you said you didn't want any money from me._

 

* * *

 

_To:_ [ _warholsprodigy@nyc.net_ ](mailto:warholsprodigy@nyc.net)

_From:_ [ _manholecover@keystone.com_ ](mailto:manholecover@keystone.com)

_Re:  Chill!_

_Relax, Warhol!  I am not wanting $ from you.   Trust me, I have more of that right now than I could ever spend in a fucking lifetime._

_What I DO want is permission to use one of your drawings for my business. I would give you credit for the illustration; that is, if I had an actual name to go with your humble email name.  *snickers*_

 

* * *

 

Justin stared at the latest message.  He wanted to use one of his sketches for his business?  He didn't know whether to be alarmed or flattered.  Just what sort of 'business' was this person into?  (At least he was assuming it was a man from the email address he used). He stared at it studiously, trying to decipher its meaning.  Normally, he found that a person's email address somehow indicated something about them, whether it was their actual name in real life, their occupation and/or where they worked, or what they liked to do as a leisure activity. He couldn't really tell anything from this one.  Was he a construction worker or a sewer worker?  If so, what would he possibly want with a photo of his? No, that didn't sound right.

 

A construction or sewer worker wouldn't say he's the CEO of a company with wads of cash.  Maybe he was a developer of some type who made his money from buying land and developing it?  That sounded more like it. But it still didn't explain why he would want to use one of his sketches. He certainly wasn't into drawing bulldozers or flat, foliage-barren land. And he was no architect, if that was what he had in mind. He didn't know the first thing about reading blueprints.  He tried to think about all the illustrations he had done in his sketchbook, but for the life of him, he couldn't think of anything this man would want to use in an advertisement.  His curiosity piqued, he typed in another response.

 

* * *

_To:_ [ _manholecover@keystone.com_ ](mailto:manholecover@keystone.com)

_From:_ [ _warholsprodigy@nyc.net_ ](mailto:warholsprodigy@nyc.net)

_Re:  Sketchbook_

_Well, I admit your type of blackmail is unique.  And my curiosity is aroused.  Just which drawing do you want? I don't draw construction pictures, so I can't possibly think of which one you might want. And I would want to know what you were using it FOR. I don't want one of my sketches showing up on some developer's sign, advertising the newest parking lot coming to NYC.  You will need to give me more details than that!_

 

* * *

 

It didn't take long for him to receive a reply; another snarky reply, although he wasn't too surprised by that. 

 

* * *

 

_To:_ [ _warholsprodigy@nyc.net_ ](mailto:warholsprodigy@nyc.net)

_From:_ [ _manholecover@keystone.com_ ](mailto:manholecover@keystone.com)

_Re:  ROTF LMAO!!_

_I am attempting to write this, but it is extremely hard, because my body is shaking too badly from laughter.  You think that I'm a construction project developer???  I admit that genius that I am, I still had a hard time figuring out why you assumed that, until I realized where you came up with that assumption.  I am NOT a 'construction developer,' as you so quaintly put it.  I own an advertising agency (and a damn good one, I might add).  The manhole cover has NOTHING to do with construction.  If you ARE Warhol's prodigy, you should be able to figure out the real meaning.  Even heteros that engage in bland missionary sex aren't all THAT dense, are they?_

_I want to use the one you drew of NYC from the top of the Rockefeller Center.  I have a client who needs a new perspective on his product (he owns a company that manufactures luxury private jets), and I feel your sketch fits the emotion I'm trying to convey perfectly for my campaign pitch to him (just don't get a big head because of that statement, although I admit you DO have more talent in your little finger than probably my entire art department combined at the moment).  So do we have a deal?  And I still need your name for credit; I may be an arrogant asshole, but I'm an ethical, arrogant asshole._

 

* * *

 

Justin's face turned beet red as he finally realized the significance behind the sender's email name.  _Oh, shit_.  Well, that answered one question; no, make that two. The person who found his sketchbook was definitely male...and apparently a queer male, at that.  O...kay....

 

He took a deep breath, his brow furrowed as he tried to come up with an appropriate response. This man continued to both irk him greatly, but also intrigue him.  And he was still flattered in a way that someone would want to use his illustration in what sounded like a very important advertising campaign. Did that mean, then, that his drawing might show up in some magazine ad, or even on television?  That would be sweet!  And if he read the man's email correctly, in a weird sort of way it sounded like he was complimenting him on his talent.  Should he just give it away, then, as a reward for finding his book?  Just how much money do people make from those sorts of things? He wondered.  And did he even want to give this man his name?

 

* * *

 

"Justin? 

 

He jumped as Vic called out his name, almost as if he had been caught doing something nefarious.  He looked over his shoulder to peer at the older man, hoping Vic wasn't able to see the email currently displayed on his notebook screen, and that his face wasn't as red as he felt it was.

 

"Mrs. Chanders would like to know if you'll be ready for some dinner soon."  Vic frowned as he approached closer.  "Are you feeling all right? You look kind of feverish to me." 

 

Justin turned even redder as he mumbled hastily, "I'm fine.  It's...just a little warm in here." 

 

Vic's concern increased as he told him, "It's not hot in here.  Actually, I just told Lula to turn the heat up a little; are you sure you're not coming down with something?  I heard there's been a virus going around..."

 

Justin waved him off, anxious to continue his 'conversation' with the mysterious stranger.  "No, no, I'm fine," he hastily assured him.  "Actually, I think I AM getting kind of hungry; could you have Matilda start dinner?"

 

Vic studied him for a few moments - a crease in his brow - before he finally nodded.  "Of course.  And if you need anything, let me know."  Justin nodded absentmindedly as Vic left the room, still wondering what was going on. The only time Justin normally acted so preoccupied was when he was immersed in one of his projects.  It didn't appear he was doing that at the moment, however, even though from time to time he _did_ used a CGI program for his medium.  Deciding he had to trust his young ward, however, he finally turned and headed off toward the kitchen.

 

Justin stared at the flashing vertical line on his computer, almost taunting him into saying something.  _Damn_.  _Well, the man didn't know his REAL name, just his user name._ He had been very careful when he had set up this account to not use his actual name, only a fake name, so why not just use that one?  He smiled with a nod as he began to type again:

 

* * *

 

_To:_ [ _manholecover@keystone.com_ ](mailto:manholecover@keystone.com)

_From:_ [ _warholsprodigy@nyc.net_ ](mailto:warholsprodigy@nyc.net)

_Re:  Sketch_

_I guess that would be okay.  It's the least I can do, I suppose, to thank you for finding my book and returning it.  You can send it to this address:  CTE, P.O. Box 1101, NYC, NY  10021-1101.  Attn: JT.  I will expect the book BEFORE you use my illustration in your campaign pitch, too, as a sign of your good faith._

_Oh, and BTW, I knew what the user name meant. I was just teasing you. You're so gullible!  ;) And one more thing - I don't like women, either.  Some genius YOU are!_

 

* * *

 

Brian read the words in front of him, unable to avoid a chuckle at the boastful tone of the email.  _Gullible_. Huh.  He highly doubted that this guy had really figured out the meaning of his user name.  But now he knew something else; the guy was a queer.  And now he was very curious what he looked like, and for some reason he wanted to know more about this guy.  _Why not?_ He thought.  It wouldn't be the first time he had engaged in a little trawling over the net.  Smiling, he typed out:

 

* * *

_To:_ [ _warholsprodigy@nyc.net_ ](mailto:warholsprodigy@nyc.net)

_From:_ [ _manholecover@keystone.com_ ](mailto:manholecover@keystone.com)

_Re:  Secret Identity_

 

_Now that you know I'm an advertising genius, what are YOU, "JT?"  Are you an artist full-time? Or do you just pretend to be one while you're hanging out in the subway station?  What's the JT stand for, anyway?  Just Trying?_

* * *

 

Justin grinned at how close this guy came to getting his first name right.  He had to think about part of that one question.  WAS he an artist 'full-time?'  After all, he didn't get paid to be an artist; he was currently sketching on his own and taking lessons to hone his craft.  And thanks to his father, he really wouldn't have to work a day in his life, if he chose to live off his smart investments. But he _also_ knew he would never be satisfied with that sort of life. 

 

It made him uncomfortable enough having others waiting on him.  It was almost as if he couldn't even go to the fucking bathroom without having an escort, and it was starting to smother him.  So he didn't know quite what came over him, but he found himself revealing things to this stranger he had never revealed before; not even to his friends Daphne and Emmett.  Perhaps it was because he knew it would be safer this way.  He wasn't sure. But he just felt the need, so he decided to be truthful...at least to a certain amount.

 

* * *

 

_To:_ [ _manholecover@keystone.com_ ](mailto:manholecover@keystone.com)

_From:_ [ _warholsprodigy@nyc.net_ ](mailto:warholsprodigy@nyc.net)

_Re:  Can't Tell, Or I Would Have to Kill You_

 

_Not an artist full-time; at least not a paid one.  But it is my passion.  I find art in everything I see. That's why I like to travel all over NYC to draw or to take photos that I can use for sketches.  I also take classes to improve myself.  My dream is to go to the New York School of Visual Arts. I'm waiting to hear if I've been accepted in the fall.  As for the JT, no, it's not "Just Trying."  Very clever guess, though.  It's my initials.  You'll just have to keep wondering._

* * *

 

Justin's finger hovered over the "send" button, wondering if he had lost his mind. What was he doing?  He knew nothing about this man; well, _almost_ nothing, anyway. And what he DID know could all be a lie. But at the same time, he was fascinated; swept up into the mystery of it all.  Before he could change his mind, then, he clicked on the button, his heart pounding furiously as he waited for a response.  Would he even get one? And how long would it take?  It's not like the guy stood over his computer for hours on end.  If he was telling the truth, someone as important as he would constantly be on the run, not sitting behind a desk, typing away.  Only a few minutes later, however, he noticed a new email in his inbox, and he couldn't help smiling. Sure enough, it was from that guy again. 

* * *

_To:_ [ _manholecover@keystone.com_ ](mailto:manholecover@keystone.com)

_From:_ [ _warholsprodigy@nyc.net_ ](mailto:warholsprodigy@nyc.net)

_Re:  Got it Figured Out!_

 

_Okay, I'll bite.  Wouldn't be the first time I've done it, although it's a different sort of biting I normally engage in.  Jewelry Thief?  James Taylor?  John Travolta?  Oh, I know - Justin Timberlake!  Oh, I'm shivering with anticipation now, waiting to hear which celebrity you are. I will wait anxiously by my keyboard, my finger hovering over the mousepad, until I receive your response. Can I get an autograph?  ;)_

* * *

 

Justin sniggered, once more thinking how close he had hit the mark regarding his name.  _He could have fun with this,_ he decided. 

 

His dinner forgotten for the moment - along with his fear of perhaps never seeing his sketchbook ever again, not to mention the possible hazards of corresponding with a total stranger who could be a 60-year-old geezer trying to simply get his rocks off - he shot off another response:

* * *

 

_To:_ [ _manholecover@keystone.com_ ](mailto:manholecover@keystone.com)

_From:_ [ _warholsprodigy@nyc.net_ ](mailto:warholsprodigy@nyc.net)

_Re:  Name_

_You couldn't afford my autograph.;)  The return of my sketchbook will suffice.  Besides, I never tell on the first date...uh...email.   Or in this case...emails._

Justin grinned as he hit the 'send' button.  _This was beginning to be fun_ , he decided.  He sat there, glued to the screen, everything else forgotten.  Sure enough, it didn't take long for the other man to respond. 

 

* * *

 

_To:[warholsprodigy@nyc.net](mailto:warholsprodigy@nyc.net)_

_From:[manholecover@keystone.com](mailto:manholecover@keystone.com)_

_Re:  My Name is Genius_

_Hmm...I like a man who thinks highly of himself.  So we have something in common. I think highly of me, too.  In fact, I could sell condoms to a nun. Or light bulbs to a bat.  Or insect repellant to a damn mosquito.  Or...well, you get the idea. Let's face it; I'm a fucking marketing genius.  Humble, too.  
_

_Now, about that sketch...I'd like to keep the actual sketch (not a copy) for a little while, just so I have the original to show my bumblers in the Art Department.  It's hard to use a print of it to get the right feel for the shading, angles, etc.  Would you have a problem with that?  I will provide a copy of my "Fucking God" award from my favorite bar if you need proof of my sincerity. Actually, it was an all-expense paid trip to the White Party in Miami, but it's just as good. Every fag in the city knows me...and I know them...intimately.  I can send you the book back by overnight mail, so you will have it tomorrow. But can I hold onto the print I want to use until the prototypes are complete for the client?_

 

* * *

Justin harrumphed.  Yes, the man certainly did not lack for confidence in himself.  He must think he's God's gift, all right.  Without knowing what he looked like, it would be hard to know how much truth was in that statement, but he certainly sounded fascinating enough.  Was it just a way to get what he wanted, however?  Namely, his permission to use his sketch?  He had already given that, anyway. He sighed.  It was just one sketch. He only really needed the one of the old man to show his instructor. 

* * *

 

_Hello?  You still there?  Or are you fantasizing about me, and had the itch to run off and sketch me all of a sudden?  I did ask a question here._

* * *

Justin blushed; actually, he HAD been wondering what the guy looked like so he could draw his likeness. But he wasn't about to admit that to him. It sounded like this character already had a big enough head as it was.  And honestly, he had no idea what a "White Party" was. And he didn't dare ask, either, for fear of showing how hopelessly ignorant he was of such things. 

 

* * *

_To:_ [ _Manholecover@keystone.com_ ](mailto:Manholecover@keystone.com)

_From:_ [ _warholsprodigy@nyc.net_ ](mailto:warholsprodigy@nyc.net)

_Re:  Sketch_

_Yes, I'm still here,_ Justin finally wrote, biting his lip as he concentrated on his reply.  _And I hate to destroy your enormous ego, but I don't have the slightest curiosity about what you look like.  I DO have a life here, you know._ He paused before continuing to mull over what to do before replying, _all right;_ _keep the damn sketch.  Send me my book back ASAP.  I will need it for my class, so send it overnight priority. Anyone who is a hotshot like you shouldn't have a problem affording that._

* * *

_To:_ [ _warholsprodigy@nyc.net_ ](mailto:warholsprodigy@nyc.net)

_From:_ [ _manholecover@keystone.com_ ](mailto:manholecover@keystone.com)

_Re:  Down, Boy!  
_

_Now don't go getting testy, Warhol.  I'll get it out to you just as I promised.  Oh, and in case you're wondering, a White Party is not a linen convention.  Google it.  It involves rope, but not a clothesline. You should have been there. BTW, what do YOU look like? Oops, I'll have to wait breathlessly for your response; son's coming in, and we're going to the zoo.  He's into bears; I'm not, so if you're big and burly, don't bother with a description.  Later._

* * *

 

Justin's eyes grew wide.  A son?  He hadn't been expecting that.  So this guy was married and cheating on a wife?  God, he hoped not.  That certainly didn't make him sound too good in _his_ eyes.  But why should he care?  It was just a business deal, right?  But being a gay stud, as the guy claimed, and then signing off to take his son to the zoo certainly sounded like someone with a split personality. How did you reconcile one with the other?  And what exactly was this 'White Party?'  He added another window on his screen, and was preparing to do a little 'research' on it before he jumped at the sound of his name as if he had been caught doing something naughty once more.  

 

"Justin?" 

 

His heart thumping, he turned around to see Vic standing in the doorway and bit back a groan; the man could appear silently like some apparition without giving his presence away, and it always scared the shit out of him.  "Matilda's about to blow a gasket and hit me with her spatula if you don't join us for dinner soon.  You know how she is about her food getting cold."  He could see that Justin was on his email account, but couldn't ascertain who he had been corresponding with. Whoever he or she was, however, the person had apparently captured his attention. He had been at his computer for quite some time.

 

Sighing, Justin nodded, reluctantly logging off from his email account.  "Coming," he told Vic.  With one last look at his notebook - his mind swirling with all sorts of questions - he swiveled around in his desk chair and rose to join the others for their meal.

 


	3. One Red Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two men step things up a notch as they get to know each other better. Will it lead to the ultimate meeting between them?

 

_Two Months Later..._

Brian pulled back the door to his loft and quickly shrugged out of his suit jacket, carefully draping it over the desk chair as he loosened his tie and headed toward the bedroom.  It had been an extremely hard day at work, and he was hoping to have an extremely hard night to go along with it; but unlike his daytime activities, he was hoping this one would be much more pleasurable.  He smiled at the thought as he quickly discarded the rest of his clothing in the air-conditioned coolness of his loft, pulling back the lightweight duvet and luxury top sheet to slip into his bed and lay his head on the pillow, reaching for his laptop to bring up his Skype account.  He shook his head, unable to believe that some stranger he had never met now held such a hold on him.  But in the two months since he had first started corresponding with his mysterious emailer, he had gotten to know him much better; at least, as best as you could considering all he had learned so far had been through either email, or now with Skype.

 

At least now he had the luxury of hearing the voice behind all the witty, informative, and highly entertaining emails he had been receiving for the past several months; he had finally convinced "JT" to graduate to voice contact, although the man still stubbornly refused to turn the video camera feature on so he could actually see what he looked like.  No matter how many times he had tried to convince him - no matter what he said, or how he said it - he still couldn't persuade him to let him see what he looked like, and it was driving him crazy.

 

The weird thing was, he felt like he knew him already in a way.  Even weirder, and even more astounding, he was finding himself falling for this total stranger, merely from the words he had written and the sound of his voice.  Of course, once they had graduated to some heavy Skype sex, that had taken things to an even higher level.  In a way, it was even more erotic, jacking off to a man he could only fantasize about in his mind.  He imagined all sorts of things about him:  the color of his hair, the glint in his eyes, how tall he was, what sort of body he had; every inch, curve, and angle.  Every possible physical characteristic he could; merely from the sound of his voice.  But unless he could see this JT, he would never know how accurate his vision was.  He DID know that the moans, whimpers, sighs, and other sounds that escaped his phone lover's lips were highly sensual and made him horny as hell.  Fuck, it had gotten so bad that now he couldn't wait to get home, rush to discard his clothes, jump into bed, and call the guy up for their nightly round of sex.  It was normally after hitting Woody's or Babylon or some other queer hangout to hit on a few tricks, have a few drinks, and maybe meet up with some of his friends. But invariably, this ongoing 'relationship' had become a nightly thing.  He was convinced he couldn't even go to sleep now until he had his nightly dose of JT first.

 

Try as he might, he never really could get the guy to reveal much about his personal life. He not only had no idea what he looked like, but hell, the guy wouldn't even tell him his age!  He could tell from the steadiness and strength in his voice, however, that unless he was the reincarnation of Jack LaLanne, he wasn't a septuagenarian in disguise, trying to relive some wild, lost period of his younger days.  And he _had_ told him at the beginning how he was wanting to get into art school.   So was he dealing with some college kid?  Or some guy who had discovered his lost calling, and had decided late in life that he was the next Gaugin who didn't start until he was in his 40's?  Or heaven forbid, some male version of Grandma Moses.  He shuddered at the thought.  No, other than his gut feeling, he really had no way of accurately telling his age, but this man didn't sound _that_ old.  How old, though, was hard to tell, and JT wasn't about to tell him, the stubborn bastard.  But fuck. He had the most melodic, sexiest voice, and knew how to tell him exactly what he wanted and how he wanted it.  All that dirty talk that flowed from his mouth always made him hard as the Rock of Gibraltar.  He could only imagine what it might be like if he ever were to see the face behind the voice.  And to think how naïve he had sounded initially in his emails! Well, thanks in part to his coaching and encouragement (at least he liked to think so), he _did_ discover one important thing about him: his mysterious email companion was a very fast learner.

 

Well, two could play that game of secrecy, he decided.  He had told Warhol a lot about him - even at one point confiding in him about what a horrid childhood he had had until he had met his best friend, Michael and his mom, who had taken him under their wing.  And he had told him all about his educational background, and he already knew about his advertising expertise.  He couldn't help bragging from time to time about one of his latest sexual conquests - taking some sort of odd pride in the jealousy he thought he heard flare up briefly in the other man's voice.  But strangely enough, although his own, personal Warhol could turn him on faster than an electrician screwing in a light bulb, he never seemed to confide in him about his _own_ exploits when it came to sex.  He still suspected that this man wasn't nearly as sexually experienced as he wanted him to think he was. He had flat out asked him once, and the other man had stumbled over his answer.  But how would he ever know?  And the fact that JT steadfastly refused to let him see what he looked like made him suspect even more that he might be right. But it also made him even more curious about wanting to see this modern version of his pen pal. 

 

He waited impatiently now as the Skype call went through.  It was approximately 8:30 p.m. Earlier than he normally called - he usually liked to wait until just before he went to sleep, because the damn guy managed to wear him out every time, even though he couldn't even see him, much less touch him.  But there was something about his rich, silky voice - and the contrast of his demands and pleas - that made him come harder than he had ever come with anyone else, in person or otherwise.  He smiled as he heard the call being answered.

 

"Hey." 

 

"Hey yourself," he softly responded, the laptop setting next to him on the mattress.  Even though he knew they couldn't see each other, he always placed it so that if ever he DID agree to it, he would be able to instantly see what he looked like.  "You sound tired.  Long day?" 

 

He could almost hear the other man smile as he told him drowsily, "Yeah.  Lots of sketching.  Made my hand ache.  You're early tonight." 

 

Brian chose to ignore that observation, more concerned about what JT had just said. "What did I tell you about that, Warhol?  Now you won't be able to jerk off while I'm giving you the best online blowjob you've ever had."  He smiled again as he heard the chuckle on the other end; he loved that sound.  It was almost magical.

 

"Oh, don't worry; I always make sure I rest it afterward so it's fully operational by the time you call.  Just make sure you can keep up with what I have in mind for you, because I really need some stress relief tonight."

 

Brian liked the sound of that.  "Well, you've come to the right place, then," he quipped.  "Or you will be soon. You lying down in bed?" 

 

"Uh, huh," was the languid reply.  Brian could hear his phone lover's soft, anticipatory pants of breath through the phone, and he instinctively knew that his pulse was racing as his body responded to the sound of his voice.  "Clothes off?"  He sultrily whispered.

 

"Yeah.  I just got out of the shower.  My hair is still wet, and there are drops of water all over my body." 

 

Brian couldn't help the groan that escaped his lips as he imagined what that must look like.  _Fuck_.  "I'm using my hot, wet tongue to lick every one of those drops off your chest before I blow on your nipples to make them hard.  And then I take my teeth and bite them before flicking them with my tongue to tease you and make you even harder."

 

JT's breathing was becoming more erratic now as he answered in a low voice, "Yeah.  I like it when you do that." 

 

Brian bit his lip to stifle his own reaction before calming his own breathing to continue.  "I suck on the pulse of your throat, leaving my mark there.  My hands are touching you everywhere now, sliding down your arms and then using my fingers to lightly tickle the warm skin of your belly.  You want to touch me so badly. But you can't." 

 

He heard a slight hesitation on the other end as the other man whispered in frustration, "No?  But I...Why?" 

 

"Because your hands are bound to the bedpost with a couple of ties.  Not mine," he explained.  "Yours."  He heard a soft chuckle on the other end.

 

"I figured.  I know...Armani, Prada...too fucking expensive to use for _that_."

 

Brian smiled.  "You got THAT right, Warhol."  He paused for a moment before continuing.  "I can feel you squirming beneath me, wriggling in a frantic attempt to loosen the ties so you can touch me, but you can't.  But fuck, your wet dick sliding against me feels so damn amazing that it makes me tongue fuck your belly button, swirling the tip around the inside where you're so sensitive."  He hears JT let out a loud moan now as his own body begins to respond to the vision in his head. 

 

"I can feel the muscles of your thighs harden as you try to arch off the bed...just before I place my hands on your hips to hold you down, and flick my tongue across your slit as you gasp in response." 

 

"Oh, God," Justin moaned louder.  He wanted to badly to shout out the man's name...if only he would tell it to him. But just as he guarded his own privacy, he could never get him to reveal his true identity.  But he _did_ know all about him - at least in his artist's mind.  And in his mind, the man was tall, lean, and oh, so sexy.  He had the sexiest voice he had ever heard...slightly raspy but rich in timbre.  The man could get him hard so fast merely by the sound of his voice, and what he described he was going to him that it made his head spin.  If he ever actually MET him and was able to touch him while he was doing these things to him, he thought he might self-combust.  "Yes....." he hissed out, imagining a pair of long-fingered hands digging into the flesh of his thighs as the man's tongue began to explore his dick.  "More." 

 

Brian smiled as he closed his eyes, relishing the sound of the other man's voice, and all the other vocalizations he always made whenever they engaged in their nightly ritual.  He felt so powerful, knowing how he made this other man feel merely by the sound of his voice and what he described to him.  How he wished he could actually be doing it in person!  He could only imagine what that would be like.  Would it be even more mind-blowing?  He certainly wouldn't mind finding out.  His own breathing began to match the erratic panting of his companion's as he told him, "Now I'm blowing on your cock as your pre-cum begins to ooze out of your slit, and I take a small taste before opening my lips and sliding your dick inside, using my tongue to wash it with my saliva." 

 

The moans and whimpers of longing began to increase - along with Brian's desire - as he continued, imagining it all in his head:  how the other man would feel, how he would look in the throes of rapture, how his muscles would tighten underneath his touch as he began to explore him in earnest.  "You spread your legs wider as I hold you down with one hand so I can reach for a pillow to place under your body and see your tight hole, just waiting for my pleasure."  He grinned as he heard the moans becoming even louder now, anticipating the next move.  He began to salivate himself, merely at the thought of doing it to him, even though it wasn't real.  "I tentatively nip and lick around it, teasing you before I curl my tongue and push inside your hole as you try to bolt off the bed in response."

 

"Oh, shit...."  Justin could almost feel his lover's wet, hot mouth surrounding his puckered hole as he began to stroke himself, his desire increasing.  "God, I wish you would tell me your name," he pleaded.  He refused to call him _Manhole Cover_.  Just the thought of what it meant made his face warm.  He smirked as he continued to stroke himself.  "Somehow 'Dean' doesn't cut it.  You don't... _sound_ like a Dean." 

 

"Maybe not...but it cuts it, all right," the other man told him, his voice rich like velvet.  "About nine inches worth.  And I'm about to jam every inch of my dick into your tight, little hole."  During their many conversations and emails, the two of them had found out a lot about each other, and when Justin had continued to practically beg him to tell him his real name, he had finally told him to call him Dean - after his favorite movie rebel of all time, James Dean.  That had evoked a snort from him, and a chuckle from Brian.  But the name had stuck. After all, Justin had no other name to call him.  He supposed it was only fair in a way; after all, he was doing the same thing by having the other guy call him JT.  But at least those were his true initials; he knew with the other man he had no way of knowing who he really was. 

 

Justin bit back another moan, but couldn't help the guttural sound that escaped his lips.  "Do it," he whispered, his voice hoarse.  "I need it.  Every inch of it."

 

Brian began to stroke himself as he lay there on the bed, pretending that he was staring down at this sexy creature, his inviting hole just waiting for him to fuck it.  "I'm grabbing a condom," he told JT.  "You want so bad to put it on me, but you can't.  And you can't jack off, either, JT.  Remember, your hands are bound.  You're going to fucking come without touching yourself.  You understand?"  Brian demanded, immersing himself in the game, and loving every second of it.

 

Justin groaned in frustration.  He knew he could defy his caller's demand, but there was something about adhering to their game that aroused him to heights he had never been to before.  Of course, it wasn't that he had had much experience sexually.  But he had never come so hard before; not until "Dean" had suggested this nightly ritual with him.  He had never done such a thing previously; and from that first time, he had been ensnared in this other man's sensual web.  "Dean..." he whispered.  "Uhh..."

 

Brian grinned at the name.  Even though he would have loved to have heard the man utter his real name from his lips, he couldn't help reacting to the desperate, frustrated tone in the other man's voice.  He could hear his breathing becoming raspy and erratic, speeding up as Brian's own stroking of his own cock did the same.  It was as if they were one as he urged, "That's it, JT.  I'm slicking my cock right now with lube, and now my fingers are slathering your hole.  Can you feel the tip of my cock at your hole, teasing it open?  I'm pushing in just a little more now.  Are you sure you can take all of me in?" 

 

"Oh, God, yes.  I'm ready.  I can feel it," Justin breathed out to him.  "Do it.  Take me." 

 

"I'm not in a gentle mood tonight, JT," Brian warned him, his own desire escalating.  "I'm going to ram my cock into your ass so hard you'll be able to feel it into next year."   He heard another moan coming from the computer as he asked, "Ready?"

 

"Yes!" Justin barked, his frustration peaking at an intensity he'd never felt before, and he couldn't even see this man.  "Give it to me!"

 

"Such a demanding bottom," Brian replied, chuckling at the indignant huff from the other end of the phone.  "Okay.  I'm gripping your hips as I push into you roughly, hearing you gasp as I thrust into you in one stroke, our bodies pressed so tightly together that your head is spinning from the sensation, from the fullness.  It's pain and pleasure - my huge cock is filling you up so much, you think you're going to split wide open..."

 

"Oh, God, yes....!  I can feel it!"  Justin couldn't believe how aroused he was, merely by the vision of what the other man must look like, and what he would be doing to him right now if they were together; he ceded to his phone lover's demand that he not touch himself as he heard Dean making all sorts of moans and grunts as if he really were pounding into him on the bed.  He could envision him looming above him as his fingers dug into his skin while he fluidly pistoned in and out of him.

 

Almost as if reading his mind, Brian hoarsely continued, "The sweat is dripping off my forehead now, landing on your chest as I continue to fuck the shit out of you.  You like it rough tonight, too; I can see it in your eyes that are now dark with lust.  I grab your legs and bend them against your body to deepen the angle and thrust into you even more, hitting your prostate and making you go wild with pleasure."  A longing whimper escaped Justin's lips as Brian told him, "You're straining hard now against your restraints, your eyes on fire from frustration and maybe a little anger that you can't touch me, but you know you are close to coming, merely by my cock sliding in and out of you.  You can feel your whole body coiling up, and your legs aching where I have your body bent in half as I reach down and slam my mouth against yours, my tongue sliding between yours lips and fucking your mouth.  I own you, body and soul, right now, and you're about to come harder than you've ever come before." 

 

It wasn't a question; it was a statement of fact.  And when he heard JT's breathing increase and his moans growing louder and louder, he knew he was right.  "Oh, shit! Ohhhh....."  Justin's heart was pounding in his chest, and his hips were arching off the bed in time with Dean's thrusts, trying to push him even deeper into his body.  He couldn't get enough.  Damn, it was so hot!  He could feel his balls tightening up from the exquisite torture, physically aching now with the need to reach out and grip what he knew would be muscular arms as he imagined this magnificent man plunging into him, deeper and deeper each time before he pulled back and rammed his cock back in.   He felt like he was on a roller coaster ride, barely holding onto his seat, as his body vibrated with pleasure.  "I can't take much more," he moaned out loudly, as his head thrashed from side to side.  He tightened his grip even harder on two of the headboard spindles, his legs bent as he could swear he felt the man fucking the life out of him. 

 

"My pace is increasing, and my hands are gripping your thighs so hard you'll have bruises tomorrow.  I'm ramming in and out of you now, and every time I pull out I'm hitting that sweet spot that's driving you wild." 

 

"Yesssss...." Justin breathed out heavily, his panting growing faster and heavier.  "Dean....Yes, yes, I want it harder!  Aaaaaaahhhh!   I'm...I can't..."  Justin's hands still gripped the spindles of the headboard behind him as he felt his orgasm pending.   He could hear the other man's moans now, too, and it made him feel almost dizzy, knowing Dean was as turned on as he was.  "Oh, God, that feels so good...Dean...Oh, fuck..."  Justin bit his lip, wondering if anyone outside his room could hear his vocalizations.  He had no idea how loudly he was moaning, but in a way he didn't care; he was too far gone to really be concerned. 

 

"Yes...Yes, that's it," Brian encouraged him, stroking his own cock faster and faster, working his hand feverously toward his own climax.  "Don't touch yourself!" Brian reminded him in a stern voice, hearing a whimper in return.  He smiled; he knew he couldn't actually see what the other man was doing - whether he was obeying him or not - but somehow he knew he was following his orders as he instructed him.  "My pace is speeding up faster and faster, and your fingernails are digging into your palms from the sensations you're feeling, knowing you can't touch me and  driving you wild with madness."  A loud moan sounded as he felt his own release pending.  "That's it!  Let it go now! Do it, Warhol!  Let yourself go!" he growled, as he heard a loud cry come from the other man, recognizing by now JT's sound as he climaxed. He could his caller's breathing, rapid and jagged, as he attempted to come down from his high as he pumped his own cock, seconds form his own release.

 

All it took was his sexy caller's voice telling him in between ragged breaths, "I'm squeezing your cock so hard right now while you're sliding in and out of me," and he promptly lost it, crying out himself as his seed spilled all over his hand and onto his chest.  _My God_. _How is this person I can't even see able to make me come so damn hard?_ He couldn't help thinking as his chest heaved violently in the after throes of their phone sex as his spent body collapsed onto the mattress. 

 

The two men lay in their respective beds afterward, both trying to regain enough breath to speak before Justin was the first to respond. He normally was, Brian found.  Through their verbal conversations that had gradually led to his idea of something more pleasurable, he had learned a lot about this mysterious "JT."  One thing he quickly discovered:  his phone lover was a regular chatterbox, both before AND after sex.  "Dean?"

 

Brian smiled.  Yep, not surprising at all.  "Yeah, Warhol?" 

 

"That was hot.  Very hot.  The best yet." 

 

Brian grinned.  "I believe you might be correct about that, JT."  The two continued to lay in a congenial silence until Brian heard the other man speak again.

 

"Dean?" 

 

Brian sighed.  "Yes, Warhol." 

 

"What...what do you look like?"  Justin was half-afraid to ask the question, wondering if the sexy vision in his head was merely a dream, but wanting to know how close he was to how he really looked. 

 

Brian frowned; JT had always been the reticent one about revealing what HE looked like, even though heaven knows he had asked enough times. He always got the same, hesitant result, though.  For whatever reason, this man with the smooth, rich, sexy voice never wanted to give him any information about his physical characteristics.

 

"I thought you told me it didn't matter what a person looked like on the outside, JT," he pointed out.  "So why would you want to know?" 

 

Justin flushed.  He knew it was hypocritical.  He knew Dean was absolutely correct.  But he was still innately curious.  "I know," he told him softly, as his breathing slowly returned back to normal.  His body was all sticky from their latest round, but he was feeling too sated and lazy to care at the moment; besides, he didn't want to miss one second of the time he spent with Dean.  Because somehow, some way, even though he had never met the man, and had thought at first he was conceited and only interested in how he could personally gain from his art work, over the course of their regular emails and then Skype discussions, he had been shocked to finally discover that he might actually be in _love_ with this man.  How, he had no idea.  And truthfully?  He had never been in love before.  So how did he really know?

 

But he thought about his lover (and that was how he thought about him now) constantly, day and night, wondering what he was doing, and what he looked like.  He loved it, especially, when he listened to Dean talk about his latest advertising triumph, or described in detail some of his friends' exploits.  He made him laugh and forget how lonely he was at times.  Most of all, though, he loved it when Dean talked about his son.  By now, he knew all about how the man's son had come to be, how old he was, and what they liked to do together, and the more he heard the love for the little boy in Dean's voice (and it was so obvious; his entire tone changed whenever he mentioned him), the more he came to care for him.  How was it possible he could, in essence, fall in love with a 'voice?'  But that was exactly what had happened.  So maybe Dean was right.  He loved him for what he was like on the inside; what difference did it make what he looked like on the outside? 

 

"It doesn't," Justin finally replied, realizing the other man was still waiting for a response.  "I guess I was just trying to figure out in my imagination what you looked like in reality.  I already know you're a beautiful man, though." 

 

Brian smiled in amusement; he felt somewhat uncomfortable with his quickly-drying cum splattered all over him, but he would wait to go take a shower.  This was more important.  "You do, do you?  And how would you know that, since you won't let me use the web camera?" 

 

"I don't need the camera to know you're beautiful," Justin told him, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed.  "I mean, you've already told me enough for me to know that.  You love your son, you watch over your friends, and you take care of them when they need it. And even though you had an absolutely horrible childhood, you've become a successful businessman.  That's enough for me to know what you're really like." 

 

"So even if I might look like a troll, you still think I'm beautiful, huh?" Was the wry response. 

 

"Well...no," Justin had to admit as he heard Dean chuckle.  "I mean, I guess there has to be _some_ sort of physical attraction, too.  That's part of it.  But knowing what you're like now on the inside, it's not as important to me if you have just average looks.  That's nothing to be ashamed of."  He heard an indignant huff from the other end.  "What?" he asked. 

 

"I can assure you, Einstein.  I am FAR from a troll."  Brian shook his head.  "Really? That's what you think?"

 

"No!  I mean, I don't know!  How would I?" 

 

Brian snorted.  "Well, duh.  If you would just turn on the..."

 

"No!" was the hurried reply, Justin's heart speeding up at the thought.  He had this dream in his head; this image of what this person looked like, from the first moment he had received Dean's email about his sketchbook to now.  What would happen if he turned on the computer, and he wasn't what he thought he would be?  He had meant it when he said the man was beautiful to him on the inside. 

 

As for himself, he was very young and inexperienced.  And not very muscular.  He knew Dean had said he didn't like bears (he had since dutifully done some research, and had determined exactly what that term meant in the queer world), but did he like them slender and slight in build?  He knew Dean was always talking about going to the gym to work out, so he must be somewhat muscular.  Would he take one look at his lean body, and decide he wasn't interested? 

 

And then there was the factor of his wealth.  Yes, the man had told him he was a CEO of some multi-million dollar company.  He _sounded_ rich when he boasted of his latest advertising conquest, or when a multitude of well-known luxury clothing brand names fell from his lips so easily.  But it wouldn't have taken a genius, rich or poor, sincere or scheming, to determine what the initials "CTE" had meant.  The P.O. Box was a private one, only known to a very few within the company and not advertised anywhere on their website, so it would be hard to verify for sure that it stood for his father's business.  But if the other man _had_ figured that out, then he might also realize he had money. It wasn't hard to find out that the original owner of a multimillion dollar business had recently passed away. 

 

He bit his lip in thought.  He was dying to see this man, talk to him, meet him in person. But how would he gauge his sincerity?  God knows he had heard enough about trawlers who spent every waking hour practically on the hunt for their latest prey, who would fall for their sob stories and send them thousands of dollars, merely based on some stranger's declaration of undying affection for them.  Dean certainly had never asked for money, so that made him feel somewhat reassured. But would that come next? 

 

He sighed.  Why was he so fucking cynical?  He had no reason to doubt this man, other than neither of them had given out their actual names. If he _was_ lying about his background, his job, and his childhood, then he was a damn good actor.  Especially when it came to his son.  His entire voice changed when he spoke about this little boy named Gus, and the details he provided about him - what they did together, what his son's favorite food was, what his favorite toy was, and the little, funny things that he was always doing - were so vivid in his mind that he was hard pressed to think the man was inventing all of it. 

 

But that still didn't mean that he was who he says he was. 

 

"Uh...JT?  You still there?"  Brian pressed, his breathing still slightly labored from their phone sex.

 

"Yeah, I'm still here."  Justin worried his lower lip pensively.  "I was just thinking, that's all." 

 

"Dreaming of what I look like again?" Brian teased him. 

 

"Don't flatter yourself," Justin quipped a bit sharply, belying the fact that it was exactly what he had been doing.

 

Brian decided to take a slightly different tactic, since this game of hide-and-seek was apparently getting them nowhere.  "I'm going on a business trip tomorrow, so I won't be able to make our normal phone call," he informed Justin.

 

Justin bit back his groan of disappointment, not even realizing how much he had looked forward to their calls until now.  "Oh?" he asked, trying hard to sound indifferent.  "I know you said you do a lot of traveling for your business." 

 

"Yeah.  I'm trying to land a major client who has a chain of stores throughout the country," Brian told him, unable to hide the pride in his voice.  If he landed _this_ one, he could fucking retired from the commisson; although, he suspected if he did, he would be bored as hell.  You could only fuck so many men in one day, even him, without it feeling a bit tedius and redundant. 

 

"That's great, Dean," Justin told his caller sincerely.  "When...when will you return?"

 

"In a couple of days."  Brian paused for a moment before getting to the main reason for his disclosure.  "Care to meet me at the Wall Street Subway, Warhol?" 

 

Justin gulped.  "Wh...What?  You mean...?" 

 

"Yep.  I'm meeting the client in the Big Apple.  Now's your chance to test your theory about what I look like.  And to personally express your eternal gratitude for not only returning your esteemed book, but also providing you with so much-heralded praise for your art." 

 

Justin snorted.  "I'm glad your client liked my sketch, Dean. But it's not like anyone really knows who the artist is."

 

"And whose fault is that?" Brian pointed out.  He sighed.  "Don't you think this has gone on long enough, Warhol?  What are you afraid of?" 

 

Justin was affronted.  "What do you mean, afraid?  I'm not afraid." 

 

"No? Then why won't you turn on the webcam and let me see you? Why won't you give me your real name?  Because I've figured out by now that you're NOT Justin Timberlake." 

 

"Yeah?"  Justin responded dryly.  "Only because you know he's straight." 

 

"Or so he claims," Brian pointed out.  "You still didn't answer my question." 

 

Justin's mouth felt dry as cotton as he lay there, the wait staff, and his friends long gone to bed, and the penthouse quiet, except for the soft ticking of the antique grandfather clock that had been handed down from generation to generation.  Justin found its regularity soothing.  But right now, his heart was pounding dramatically faster than the clock's tempo. The thought of finally coming face-to-face with this unknown stranger he had grown so close to - merely by the sound of his voice, and what he had confided to him during their emails and late-night talks - filled him with anxiety. 

 

"JT? Brian quietly prompted.  "You want to know something?" 

 

Justin shook his head, even though he knew Brian couldn't see the gesture.  "What?" 

 

Brian took a deep breath and let it out.  "I...I have come to know _you_ , too." 

 

Justin laughed nervously.  "Oh?  And just what am I like?" 

 

"You're adventurous.  You're creative.  You have a good sense of humor, and you're intelligent, and versed in a wide range of subjects.  And you give a hell of a virtual blow job.  Wouldn't you like to find out what it _really_ feels like, though? To really be together?"  There was silence on the other line, which, oddly enough, didn't really surprise him.  He still sensed that his mysterious friend/lover (?) - he wasn't sure _what_ to call him - was still not that experienced in the sex department.  But again, he was savvy enough to know that some people could be incredibly good actors, also.  He sighed.  "Well, I know you're still there, because I can hear you breathing," he pointed out.  "The decision is up to you.  This over-the-internet stuff can only go so far.  Pen pals are a little old-fashioned, don't you think?  I know you're curious about what I look like. And so am I. What better opportunity to find out?" 

 

Justin's heart was pounding.  He didn't know _what_ to say.  Part of him was scared breathless at the thought, while the other part was dying to say yes.  Could he trust Dean?  Would he feel the same way about him that he does now, once they were face-to-face?  Was he a hypocrite for even thinking that way, after he had told him it was the person inside that counted?  _Shit_.  He hadn't seen that coming at all.  "Uhh...I'll think about it.  I have to go.  I have a lesson early tomorrow." 

 

Brian pursed his lips together, partly in frustration and partly out of irritation.  The fact that JT didn't want to meet made him wonder just what he might be hiding.  But he knew the person had to be a guy, and a queer guy at that; no one could possibly fake those sounds of pleasure that escaped his lips.  But what did those lips look like? And what did the rest of him look like?  All he knew was that somehow - in some wondrous way - this man had caused him to confide things about himself, even some of his insecurities as both a father and even a friend - to him. Details, sometimes painful details, about things that he had experienced throughout his life.  It was liberating in a way, being able to disclose it.  For a moment, he understood why it must be therapeutic to attend counseling, although to him this was better in a way. He didn't have to look JT in the eyes when he had told him about his father beating the shit out of him for minor things, or the way his mother had tolerated him as a necessity to be considered a ‘good Catholic,' rather than loving him like you normally would love your son.  About how he had never wanted to be a father, but once he had seen Gus, he had fallen in love with him.  So many other things:  about his first time with that coach, who he now knew was in reality a child molester (oh, he had boasted about it to his friends, but in reality, he had been scared to death when it had happened; too afraid to say no to this authority figure), his one-time, drunken, exploratory fling with Lindsay in high school, and how her partner, Mel, was still jealous of him, even to this day.  How he even valued all his friends, especially his best friend, Michael, but never dared really tell anyone but him how much he really cared.

 

Yes, he had shared many intimate, deep secrets with this stranger. Was he prepared to see what he looked like in real life, and test his theory? A theory he would have thought unheard of before they had first started corresponding, and he had gotten to know him?  Because the biggest revelation of all to him was that he was starting to care for this person; _really_ care. The question was, though:  could someone as vain as he put aside his standards of attractiveness - no matter what JT looked like - and really accept him for what he was, who he was, inside?  There was only one way to find out.  He sighed.  "Okay, JT.  You sleep on it, and let me know.  I'm flying in tomorrow morning, and will be in town for three days.  Now's your chance to see if your fantasy lives up to your reality."  He grinned as he could have sworn he heard a huff from the other end of the line. 

 

"You're not a very humble person, are you?  So you think I fantasize about you, do you?" 

 

Brian's grinned widened even more as he replied, "Yeah.  I do.  You going to tell me otherwise?" 

 

Now it was Justin's turn to sigh in resignation.  "No," he admitted.  "I do.  Every time I go to sleep at night." 

 

"Me, too," was the surprising response.

 

Justin's eyes widened in the semi-darkness.  "Yeah?" 

 

"Yeah."  Brian paused for a moment.  "I feel like I already know you in a way.  But I'd be lying if I didn't say I want to see what you really DO look like. And since you're not willing to do it through the computer, I'll tell you what.  We'll arrange some sort of way for you to see me before I see YOU.  Some kind of signal, or object, or something.  Something that tells you exactly who I am, and what I look like. Then you can decide if you want to go through with meeting me in person or not.  I won't even know you're there unless you decide that's what you want. Sound fair?" 

 

Justin pondered that.  So he could see Dean before he decided whether or not to identify himself?  "How would we do that?" he asked, intrigued at the idea.  It would be a safe way of seeing what he looked like without any risk to him. 

 

Brian thought about it for a moment, unable to stop from detecting the hint of hopefulness in the other man's voice.  "My client's meeting is scheduled to be over at 2:30 tomorrow.  I'm staying at the St. Regis near Grand Central Station, so I can meet you there.  I'll be in the grand concourse.  You've been there before, I assume?" 

 

Justin couldn't help smiling at that.  "Yes, of course.  It's beautiful in that concourse.  I love to draw all sorts of things in there.  I love the Art Deco styling.  It's like being in some bygone era."

 

Brian nodded.  "Then you know there are two staircases on either side of the concourse.  You can stand up there and observe me arrive.  I'll..."  He had to think of something; an object, item of clothing, or some gesture that they could use as a way for JT to recognize him.  "I'll be carrying a..." He paused.  What could it be?  There were numerous vendors located down a main hallway leading into the station from 38th Avenue:  a nut shop, cheese vendor, candies.  He thought about the other ones.  No art supply store.  He had to think of a simple but effective way that would make him stand out among the crowd - literally.  And as much as it pained him, he could think of only one, true way to do that.

 

"I'll be carrying a red rose.  One red rose.   So you will know that it's me.  We both know this Skype thing can only go so far.  Come on.  Take a little risk.  If you really mean what you said - that it's what inside that means the most - than there's no reason not to meet."  Actually, he couldn't believe he was even suggesting such a thing.  Brian Kinney. King and connoisseur of all things expensive, extremely focused on image, both personally and professionally, and here he was, almost pleading to meet with someone he wouldn't even know, even if he passed him on the street?  What was this person doing to him?  But damn it.  He DID want to meet him.  He HAD to meet him.  What he would do if JT agreed, and then once they met, he didn't feel any attraction toward him, he wasn't sure what he would do.  But he was hoping JT felt curious enough to agree.  "JT, you can sleep on it if you want.  But do you really think that will make a difference?  Don't you think it's time?" 

 

Justin lay there, staring at the wall of his familiar bedroom, snugly cocooned in his safe, little world inside the penthouse.  Yes, he did venture outside the grand metropolis of teeming people known as New York City.  But he was still alone.  He had Emmett and Daphne, thankfully. But apart from them, and the household staff, he had no one special to care about, or to...love.  Could this be the one?  And was he brave enough to find out?  What would be worse?  Finding out he had been right, and this man was some schemer?  Or never finding out at all?  Taking a deep breath as he made up his mind, an idea formulated in his head.  "No," he told him softly.  I mean, sleeping on it won't make a difference." 

 

Brian held his breath.  "Meaning?" 

 

"Meaning that...yes.  Yes, I will meet you tomorrow at Grand Central Station.  And we can take it from there.  Three o'clock?"  He licked his lips as his pulse raced, wondering if he was doing the right thing.  But he was resolved to go through with it nonetheless. 

 

Brian smiled.  "Yeah, three o'clock.  Main concourse.  I'll be near the clock.  Okay?" 

 

"Three o'clock.  Near the clock. Red rose. Got it." 

 

Brian nodded as he lay on his bed, a ring of smoke rising to lay, heavy and dense, upon the ceiling.  "See you then."

 

_See_.  _Wow, he was really going to do this.  Meet the shadowy, mysterious Dean at last._ Before he lost his resolve, he replied, "Yeah.  I'll see you then."  Exiting the talk feature on his computer, he lay there, wondering what in the hell he had just done.


	4. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin's friends discover what's been going on, and develop a plan to test the mysterious stranger's sincerity.

The Next Morning - Justin's Penthouse

 

Emmett and Daphne eyed each other across from the dining room table, both thinking the same thing. Despite trying to engage their mutual best friend in some conversation this morning, Justin was being uncharacteristically quiet. Not only that, even more telling, he had eaten exactly two bites of his scrambled egg and one strip of bacon. In addition, his eyes were puffy, as if he hadn't slept last night, and Justin normally slept like a zombie; they could blare everything short of an air horn, and the young man would stay asleep. Yes, something was wrong with him, and even the staff, especially Vic, who was seated next to Justin on the opposite side as Emmett, had noticed as well. Vic peered over at Daphne, who merely shrugged her shoulders.

 

After a few more seconds of silence, however, Daphne couldn't take it any longer. "Justin." She waited a few seconds for a reply, but none was forthcoming; her friend was simply picking at his scrambled egg with his fork, but not even stabbing any of it to eat. It was more like playing with his food. She tried again then, only louder. "Justin!" 

 

Startled, Justin finally lifted his head to peer over at her. "Huh? Did you say something?" 

 

The three others still remaining at the table gave each other a look before Daphne took charge. "Yes, I was saying something. What the hell is wrong with you?" 

 

Justin frowned, a little surprised by her curtness. "What do you mean?" 

 

"Well...for starters, you've barely touched your food, and you look like you haven't slept a wink. And you've barely said two words since breakfast began. Are you sick?" 

 

Justin sighed as he noticed everyone's eyes on him. "No," he replied. 

 

"Then what? What is going on with you? You've seen so preoccupied lately, too. I mean, I know your artwork takes up a lot of your time, but normally you don't go up to your bedroom and hide yourself like some bear hibernating for the winter. What's gotten into you, Justin?" 

 

"Yeah, Sweetie," Emmett interjected. "You haven't been yourself lately. What's wrong?"

 

Justin winced at the word 'bear,' and the 'gotten into' part. That just brought up some images he'd rather not think about, because his stomach was queasy enough as it was. "I..." Shit, where did he start? Even the thought of telling his most trusted friends the reason made him extremely anxious. Would they think he was pitiful, starting up a 'relationship' with someone he'd never met, or even seen? Right now - in the starkness of the bright sunlight flooding through the large windows overlooking Central Park - what he had agreed to do later today made him question his sanity. He sighed again, more heavily this time as three concerned faces peered back at him expectantly. He noticed all the others had already finished their meal; normally he would have beaten them to it well before now. "Can we go outside on the terrace?" he asked them, suddenly feeling a need to talk about the past two months, but also feeling like he needed some air. Perhaps it was time to get an outsider's opinion, and he trusted his father's oldest confidante and his two friends implicitly.

 

The trio nodded as all of them pushed back from their seats to follow Justin out of the dining room, and toward the French doors that led out to a wide terrace overlooking the lush greenery of Central Park on one side, and the bustling area of upper Manhattan on the other. It was one of Justin's favorite places to reflect, relax, and draw - although by now, he had pretty much drawn landscapes of everything he could see from the open, manicured area. At the moment, however, it really didn't matter. That was the last thing on his mind. 

 

They all sat down in a corner of the terrace that held a smaller-sized, outdoor-hearty couch and two matching chairs under a gazebo, Justin curling his legs up under him as he sat at one end of the couch; Daphne joined him at the other end as the two men sat in the chairs across from him.

 

Justin took a deep breath. "You all remember how about eight weeks ago I had my sketchbook stolen?" The three nodded, remembering how frantic he had been when he had discovered it missing that day. 

 

"Sure do," Vic spoke up. "You were worried sick about it, until you got that email. It's a good thing that person mailed it back to you." He crinkled his forehead in bafflement. "What connection does that have to what's going on now? You got your book back."

 

Justin nodded. "Yeah, thankfully I did. But the person who had it..." His voice trailed off; how was he going to even explain this? It didn't really make sense to him, either. 

 

"Did they damage it?" Emmett asked in surprise. 

 

Justin shook his head. No," he clarified. "Well, he did ask to keep one sketch of mine. The one I took from the top of the Rockefeller Center. He' says he's the CEO of some big advertising company, and wanted to use it for one of his ad campaigns. Said he made a lot of money out of winning over the client, too. I didn't want any money from him," he quickly added before they brought it up. "But he did give me credit for it," he reported with a smile. "He told me which magazines it was in, and I saw it featured in Sporty's." He remembered the thrill he had felt that first time when he had flipped through the magazine that Dean had advised him was one of the periodicals the client's luxury jets were being promoted in, and how excited he had been to see his ad there in full color, a sleek, white jet interposed in the foreground as it circled around the Manhattan skyline. And Dean had been right; it had fit into the company's image perfectly. It certainly would make HIM go out and buy a jet, if he needed one, or could even afford to maintain one. Even with the substantial inheritance from his father, he would have to think twice about such an extravagant purchase; besides, he had no need for one. 

 

"Sporty's Magazine?" Vic asked, interrupting his train of thought.

 

Justin nodded. "Yeah, it's a pilot's magazine. Most popular one on the market." 

 

"Yeah...now that you mention it, I remember seeing a copy of that on the living room coffee table the other day. I was wondering why you had that," Vic recalled. 

 

"Actually...I have more than one copy," Justin sheepishly admitted. He hadn't been able to resist, partly to give his art instructor a copy, and also to keep an extra one in his desk drawer. From time to time, he would take it out and stare at the ad, wondering about the man behind it. Of course, that was nothing new. And today...He felt his body breaking out into a cold sweat as he thought about his enigmatic phone lover, and their plans for later today. 

 

"Justin? You okay?" Daphne asked. "Surely you're not cold." The day had begun muggy already, the humidity lying heavy like a woolen blanket over the city, so it was unlikely that was the cause. Sure enough, she watched her friend shake his head.

 

"No...Just nervous," he admitted, rubbing his arms with his hands almost subconsciously for a few moments before he continued. "The man who found my sketchbook?" Vic and his friends nodded. "Well...you know that he emailed me, using the address I had in the back of the book. And then after I sent him a note back, thanking him for mailing it to me...we continued emailing each other." 

 

Daphne frowned as the other two avidly listened with rapt attention, sensing there was more to this than just some polite interactive emailing. "And?" she prompted.

 

Justin shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Well...at first it was only about mundane sort of things."

 

Daphne sighed a little in frustration. She could almost hear the word before she said it. "But...?" She prompted. She recalled how Justin hadn't seem very available to do a lot of things with either her or Emmett over the past couple of months - about the same time as when Justin's sketchbook went missing, now that she thought about it.

 

Justin noticed how quiet it seemed at that moment, even though they were right in the hub of New York City while everyone stared intently at him. Out with it, he chided himself. That was the whole point. He had to get someone else's opinion about what he was about to do...and how foolish it probably was. "But then it turned into more. He mentioned taking his son to the zoo, and some other things they did together. So I asked him about that. And then I talked about how much I loved art, and wanted to attend art school. We would email once a day in the evenings, and we both found out we had similar tastes in music, books, and movies...And I found out he was gay, too," he finally added, realizing he had probably left out one of the most crucial parts.

 

Vic frowned. "But you said he had a son." 

 

Justin nodded. "Yeah, he does. But he's not raising him; at least not full-time. He agreed to be the sperm donor for one of his friends, who's a lesbian. She's married to this other woman, and the two of them have main custody of Gus. But from what he's told me, he sees him all the time. And I can tell by the sound in his voice that he really loves him a lot." 

 

"Whoa...wait, back up there," Emmett interjected. "You just said ‘the sound of his voice.' If you're just exchanging emails, how would you know that what he sounds like?" 

 

"Uhh..." Shit. He knew he would have to get to that at some point; he just hadn't intended on it being this quickly. "Well...After a week or so, since we were getting a little tired of writing back and forth, and waiting for the other one to answer, he suggested we do some Skyping instead." 

 

Emmett's eyes widened excitedly. "Oh, do tell, Baby! What does he look like?" 

 

Heat bloomed all over Justin's face as he admitted, "I don't know." 

 

"You don't know? How can you not know?" Daphne asked, interrupting him. 

 

Justin licked his lips. "Well...because we don't use the webcam. Just the audio feature." 

 

"What! Sweetie, aren't you dying to know what he looks like?" Emmett probed.

 

Before Justin could answer with something like a ‘God, yes,' Vic asked him, "By the way, did this man tell you anymore about where he's from, or about his company?" 

 

"Well, not where he's from. But he told me he's the CEO of his own advertising company. And there was my ad in that magazine he told me about, so I know he has to have some connection to advertising. He's told me a lot about himself, and about how he grew up, and how his friends are..."

 

Vic pondered all that before he queried, "And just how much does he know about YOU? Like, how much money you inherited from your father? About where you live?" 

 

Justin figured that Vic would wind up being the most analytical one - and the most concerned. He had always been that way, but especially so since his father had died. "Well...obviously he knows I live in New York City, because that's where he found the book, and he had to send it back here. And I've told him about how I like to walk around New York City to find inspiration for my sketching for my lessons." He smiled as he peered over at his friends. "And I told him about the good friends that I have. But he doesn't know about my wealth. I didn't think that makes a difference. It's not how much money a person has, or even if he or she is the most beautiful person on the planet. It's..."

 

"...about their character, and about how they are on the inside," Daphne finished for him as Justin nodded. She sighed. "I know that's how YOU feel. But, Justin, how do you really know this guy is some big shot at that advertising firm? For all you know, he could be some flunky there, trying to impress the boss. And maybe he has found out somehow that you have a lot of money, and he's trying to con you. It wouldn't be the first time, you know. You could have let something slip and not even realized it. Has he asked you for anything else?" 

 

"No!" Justin answered perhaps a bit too hastily. "I mean, nothing monetarily or anything like that, anyway." 

 

Vic frowned. "What do you mean nothing monetarily?" he commented. "Just what HAS he asked you for?" 

 

Justin turned beet red. Just how much was he willing to tell these three people that he treasured so dearly? Some of what he and Dean had done was personal; extremely personal. He should have realized that Vic, especially, would pick up on that part. "Well..." He took a deep breath. "We were talking about things we did for fun, and he was talking about going out and hooking up with guys at night, and I started asking him some questions about it. And then one thing led to another, and..."

 

Emmett gasped, instantly realizing what his friend was about to say. "Oh, my God! You've been having phone sex with him!?" he screeched. It sounded so loud to Justin's ears that he could have sworn everyone within a two-mile radius of his penthouse had to have heard him as he winced. 

 

Justin quickly retorted, "Tell the whole city, why don't you?" 

 

"Justin!" Daphne exclaimed in shock. "OMG, you have! And you don't even know what he looks like? When did you ever have REAL sex?" As far as Daphne knew, her friend didn't have any experience at all. It didn't take long for her supposition to be confirmed.

 

"Daphne, please!" Justin pleaded. "TMI!" He raised his hand briefly to feel his cheek, noticing how hot it felt. Could he feel any more embarrassed? "This is hard enough, and I really need your advice." 

 

Vic's brows rose at that. "Okay. Let me get this straight. Pardon the pun," he added with a wry expression. "You got an email from this stranger, telling you he had found your book. Then he persuaded you to keep one of your sketches, kept emailing you, and then talked you into engaging in phone sex over Skype? And you've never met him, or even know what he looks like?" 

 

Justin rose from the couch like a caged lion needing its freedom. He huffed loudly in frustration. "Aargh! It wasn't like that! Yes, I have been emailing and Skyping with him for the past two months. But he never pressured me into doing anything. It was a natural progression. And I wanted it, too. It...It all just kind of...gravitated there." 

 

Emmett couldn't help smirking at that statement. "Yeah...and we know where it gravitated TO." He held his hand up as Justin prepared to loudly protest. "Justin, we're just trying to look out for you. You said he has a son. How old IS this son?" 

 

"He's five. Just entered kindergarten this year." He smiled. "He told me his favorite hobby is finger painting, so he might have an artist in the family, just like me." 

 

Emmett nodded. "Okay...so his son is five years old. So this man would have to be, what? At least in his mid to upper twenties?"

 

"If not older," Daphne muttered as Justin glared at her. "Justin, we're just really concerned. You don't know HOW old this man is! Or even if he's telling you the truth! He could be some closeted married guy, trawling the internet and looking for his latest gullible conquest." 

 

Justin sighed. "Don't you think I already thought about that? Actually, that's why I have you out here. I need to talk to you. I need a neutral perspective." 

 

The trio frowned. "A neutral perspective on what?" Daphne asked as she peered up at her friend. 

 

Justin could only guess what their reaction was going to be, but he suspected it wouldn't be pretty. "He told me last night that he had a business meeting here this morning...and he wants to meet me in person." 

 

"What?!" a chorus immediately resounded. The reactions afterward, though, were mixed. 

 

"He does?" Emmett asked as his friend nodded, biting his lower lip. "Ooh, so you will get to meet your mystery man at last!" He rubbed his hands together, a twinkle in his eye. "Then I'll have to help you with your outfit. You dress way too conservatively to show off your best assets, anyway...if you know what I mean. Where are you meeting him at? A dance club? A restaurant? Somewhere romantic, I hope. And if he's as well off as you say and older, then I say he pays. Now tell me where you'll be meeting, so I can help you find something perfect to wear! I'll even let you borrow one of my tops." 

 

"Uhh...actually, he asked me to meet him at Grand Central Station." 

 

"What!? Justin!"

 

"Justin, what?" Justin responded, scowling at Daphne. "What's wrong with that? You said you were worried about who this guy was. What better place than in one of the biggest and most crowdest subway and train hubs in the city?" 

 

"Well, if you ask ME, it's a very strange place to meet up with someone for the first time. So he's shown you what he looks like, then? Finally?" 

 

Justin shook his head as the others looked at him in disbelief. "No. I don't need to know what he looks like on the outside. I know what's important: what his character is like where it really counts, and how he treats his family and friends."

 

Daphne eyed him skeptically. "So you don't care if the man winds up being a total dweeb with a slicked-back, greasy haircut straight out of the Fifties, wearing some clothes he bought at K-Mart several years ago? You don't think some physical attraction isn't important, too?" She shook her head. "I can't even believe I'm even saying that! Justin, this is crazy to agree to meet someone you don't even know!" 

 

"Well, how am I supposed to get to know him if I don't meet him? Daphne, it's a crowded, very public place. What better way to meet someone you're not totally sure about regarding his sincerity? And to answer your question, of course there has to be some sort of attraction. But if he's not some Brad Pitt, or some other very attractive man, I'm hoping that I'm not so shallow that I can't look beyond something like that to see the real man inside. I already feel like I know him, Daph. And I...I think I might even be falling in love with him." 

 

Emmett's declaration of "aww" was matched by Vic's expression of utter shock and Daphne's look of astonishment. "Justin! You can't be in love with a man you've never seen! Be realistic! You're in love with the idea of it, that's all!" 

 

"No, I'm not!" Justin insisted. "You haven't been there to hear him talk; to listen to him describe what he's been through, how he takes care of his friends and family, how driven and passionate he is about his work. Just like I'm passionate about my art." He shook his head slightly, knowing himself how ridiculous it all sounded, but determined to go through with it just the same. "I know it's illogical," he admitted to all of them as Daphne gave him a ‘duh' look. "But somehow I just know that if I don't take this opportunity to meet him - to really meet him - I'm going to regret it for the rest of my life." 

 

"Would he be interested in a conference call?" Emmett asked with a twinkle in his eyes.

 

"Emmett, you're not helping here," his uncle gently scolded him. Vic sighed. "Justin, I think we're all - well, Daphne and me, anyway - are just trying to say you need to exercise a little caution here, that's all. How would you even know who this man is? You said you don't know what he looks like." 

 

"Well...he said his meeting is over at 2:30, and that he should be at the station by 3:00. He said he'd be standing near the clock."

 

Vic pointed out, "There might be a LOT of men standing around that clock, since it's in the middle of the concourse. How will you know which one he is?" 

 

Justin revealed, "He told me I could stand at either end of the upper veranda, and watch for him so I can stay anonymous at first." He blushed. "He said he'll be carrying a red rose." 

 

Emmett let forth with a dreamy sort of sigh. "How romantic! Now, about those clothes, Baby..."

 

"Emmett! Will you try and stifle your romantic notions for the time being?" Daphne scolded him this time. "We're trying to figure out if it's even safe for Justin to meet this man."

 

Justin huffed in irritation. "Safe? I'm going to be in the middle of dozens of people! What do you think he'll do with me? Hold me at gunpoint while he leads me away to rob me or assault me? You've been watching way too many of those crime reality shows." Daphne seemed to have developed an almost unhealthy obsession with watching all the ‘whodunnit' shows on television, making a game out of who the killer is until he or she is finally revealed. She had gotten pretty good at it, actually, winning quite a few dollars out of her and Justin's bets over who the true perpetrator was (that was all they ever betted with). But she still always gloated over her victories. 

 

"Well, it's true," she insisted. "He wouldn't have to have a gun or even a weapon. All he'd have to do is grab you by the elbow, and pull you away. In THAT crowd, no one would even notice - or probably even care, for that matter." 

 

Justin threw up his hands. "I give up!" he declared, fiery determination in his eyes. "I'm going to meet him. And there is nothing you can do about. Oh, and Vic, you tell the security guards to NOT follow me. I don't want the bloodhounds watching my every move!" Vic opened his mouth to protest - not all that surprised that Justin had caught on - but his employer anticipated his next comment. "No, I mean it. They may have answered to my father when he was alive, but I'm their boss now. And will or no will, I do NOT want them there. Is that clear?" Silence briefly prevailed before he prompted, "Vic? Promise me." And Justin knew he would keep his promise, as difficult as it would be to uphold it.

 

Vic sighed heavily. "If that is your wish, Justin."

 

Daphne's mouth hung open. "Surely you're not going to let him go down there by himself!" 

 

"Well, YOU'RE certainly not coming!" Justin barked.

 

"Oh, yes I am!" Daphne retorted. "There's nothing you can do to stop us from being there...and at least watching from a safe distance to make sure he doesn't maul you or something."

 

Justin rolled his eyes. "He's not some lion being fed a piece of meat!"

 

"Oh, really?" Daphne countered. "Looks the same to me." She rose from her place on the couch to stand face-to-face with her friend as her expression softened. "Justin, we all just want you to be safe. We all care about you, and don't want anything to happen to you. How do you know this guy's intentions are sincere, and that he's not trying to take advantage of your naivety?" 

 

"She's right, Son," Vic responded quietly, using the affectionate nickname he occasionally bestowed on his young charge. "I understand wanting to do this on your own with that independent streak of yours. But you have to think of your safety as well."

 

Justin let out a vocal groan. "I know your intentions are good. But Vic, I have to do this. I'm going to meet him, whether you all agree with me or not." 

 

Vic nodded. He knew once Justin made up his mind, that there was no changing it. He pondered on their dilemma for a few moments before he smiled. 

 

"What?" Justin asked, noticing the change in his expression. 

 

"I think there's a way we can perhaps judge his sincerity, and without risking your safety at the same time." 

 

Justin cocked an eyebrow at him curiously. "How?" 

 

 

A few minutes later, Justin nodded in agreement after hearing Vic's plan. It was a good compromise, and made everyone involved satisfied. "Okay. I'll do it," he told them. "So we're all agreed?"

 

All three of his friends nodded before Emmett clapped his hands in delight. "Well! Now that that's settled, let's go figure out what you should wear," he eagerly suggested. "We only have so much time before the big event." 

 

Daphne and Vic shook their heads in amusement as Emmett grabbed Justin by the arm to lead him back inside. As they watched the two friends disappear out of sight, Daphne murmured, "I hope he knows what he's doing. You know he always tends to lead with his heart and not his head."

 

Vic nodded in agreement. "I know. But I think this'll work. And you and Emmett will be there to judge him as well. You know he'll do it with or without our help, so it's best we go along with this. It's the best compromise."

 

Daphne sighed but nodded. "Yeah. I only hope this man doesn't break his heart." 

 

Vic nodded back at her. "Yeah," he murmured softly. "Yeah, me, too."


	5. Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian's true intentions are put to the ultimate test. Will he pass or fail?

Pearson Building, Wall Street, Lower Manhattan...2:40 p.m.

 

Brian gathered up the promotional materials for his newest client and placed them in his briefcase. Thanks in part to JT's suggestions about tweaks to the rather lackluster artwork his employees had created, Gerald Montgomery - the founder and owner of Montgomery Cinematics - had loved the dynamic campaign pitch Kinnetik had prepared for him. He had the man's handshake - and more importantly, his name signed on the contract - to prove it. He smiled as he thought about his latest triumph, turning as he nodded his goodbye to Montgomery before heading toward the door. 

 

As soon as he stepped outside, he quickly slipped on his Gucci sunglasses as bright sunshine hit him square in the face, the glare from the surrounding skyscraper windows almost blinding him. Glancing up and down the bustling financial district, he impatiently waited for a taxi to flag down, realizing he was running a few minutes late. He had just enough time to grab a cab, head to Grand Central Station, and pick up the single, red rose he needed from the flower market vendor before his meeting with JT.

 

 

As he eventually managed to flag down a taxi a couple minutes later and slipped into the back seat, he finally had a chance to reflect back to earlier that morning in his loft, shaking his head as he remembered how much he had agonized over what to wear today. He must have pulled out - and disregarded - seven or eight ensembles before he finally settled on one he felt would be best for both his client's meeting and his encounter with his ‘mystery man:' a tailored, charcoal gray Armani suit, a darker gray tie with faint, light grey pinstripes, a deep maroon shirt, and polished, black, Gucci shoes. As always, Brian Kinney's grooming and fashion sense were immaculate - an image that would easily rival any out of GQ - but for all the confidence he normally displayed, today he found his palms were sweaty, and his pulse was racing, merely at the thought of his more personal meeting soon to take place. 

 

What was wrong with him? He couldn't help asking himself. He had faced much more stressful situations and challenges before, and had never teetered in his certainty that he would be successful in whatever was thrown his way. Yet this one, simple meeting with a man he had never met had him feeling like a fucking teenager on his first date. Tightly gripping the handle of his briefcase, he called to the taxi driver to stop briefly in front of the St. Regis Hotel so he could ask the concierge - who was quite familiar with him by now, since he religiously stayed there each time he was in New York City - if he could have someone take it up to his room. Securing the man's promise with a generous tip, he rolled the window back up and instructed the cabbie to take him to the 38th Street Side of Grand Central Station, feeling his heart rate increasing the closer they crept toward his destination. Damn...he was going to be late. He could only hope that JT would wait for him. 

 

 

2:55 p.m.

 

"You see anyone yet? Someone with a rose?" Daphne asked hopefully as she stood on her tiptoes, peering down below from her perch next to Emmett. The two of them were situated to the right-hand side of the wide, marble staircase located at the west end of Grand Central Station's spacious concourse, their eyes riveted on the center of the large room, a circular ticket counter surrounding an antique, brass clock that stood on a tall pillar, almost like a beacon on a lighthouse. A matching, white railing ran across the entire length of the upper floor of the concourse at both ends, providing a clear view of the bustling scene below. Being rush hour presently, the area was even more crowded than normal, and lines of ticket buyers snaked out from each ticket window as others hurried to board either the subway or trains to head home. 

 

Emmett looked on in amazement at the crowd resembling a swarm of bees. "Look at all those people! How are we ever going to see him?" 

 

Daphne snorted. "Emmett! How many of them will be walking around carrying a long-stemmed, red rose in their hand?" 

 

"We will even be able to see his hand?" he pointed out, as throngs of people rushed to and fro, heading toward their transportation. Why had possessed the man to meet Justin right now during the height of traffic? But, of course, in New York City, rush hour could last a long time. 

 

"Oh, shit!" Emmett suddenly exclaimed as he grabbed Daphne's wrist. "Uh, oh..."

 

She craned his neck to peek around Emmett's tall, lanky frame. "What? What do you see?" 

 

"Don't look," he warned his friend, but he knew she wouldn't be able to resist any more than he could. He pointed to someone heading into the main concourse through one of the entrance doors: a skinny, tall man wearing all Goth black, with a slicked-back head of dark, inky hair, eyeliner around his eyes, bright, red lips, and piercings in his lip, nose, and ears. He was wearing a silver, studded choker around his neck, and was clutching a dog-eared book in one hand...along with a single, red rose in the other, swinging it carelessly back and forth by his side as he held it carelessly upside down. 

 

 

Daphne groaned. It wasn't that she necessarily had anything against the Goth look, but she was hoping for someone other than a Marilyn Manson lookalike for her friend's ‘mystery man.' She held her breath and watched as the man neared the clock....and then kept on going. There was an audible sigh of relief from her as they watched him head toward the subway entrance. 

 

"That one looked a little scary," Daphne observed.

 

"Yeah, that's not what I thought he would look like," Emmett commented. Although it was an intriguing thought, even he didn't think that would have been a good match for his friend. Plus, the man certainly hadn't looked like he was some big shot advertising executive...more like some macabre impression of a mortician.

 

Daphne sighed. "Maybe this was a stupid idea. He might not show up at all, and then Justin's going to be heartbroken." 

 

"It's not 3:00 yet," Emmett reminded her as she glanced back at him. "There's still time," he insisted, ever the optimist.

 

"Oh, come on, Emmett!" Daphne pointed out in irritation, her nerves on edge as they waited to see whether or not the enigmatic Dean would actually go through with his plan to meet Justin. "Do you really think he would show up late for this meeting if he really was sincere about it? Justin's nervous enough as it is." They both turned to gaze over at their friend, who was currently sitting at a small, round table inside the exclusive steakhouse situated on the same floor, peering over at them hopefully. Daphne watched his face fall as she shook her head at him, signaling that nothing was happening yet.

 

 

From his place at the table, Justin's mind was whirling with possibilities. It was still a few minutes before three, and he had no reason to think that Dean wouldn't show up. In fact, during their various talks and emails, he had come to realize that to Dean, keeping one's word was very important to him. But as time marched on, more and more butterflies were taking flight inside his stomach. This was it; this was the day he would (hopefully) get to see the shadowy man he had been corresponding with for the past eight weeks. He had thought about nothing else since last night, when he had discovered the two of them would be in the same city together, and that Dean wanted to meet him face-to-face. And he had vowed that no matter what this man looked like - even if he had maybe embellished his looks somewhat - he would still care for him, because he knew the REAL him; the part that was important. As he sat there - his hands nursing a glass of red wine - he recalled all the wonderful characteristics he had discovered about Dean: his dry sense of humor, his gentle tone when speaking about his son, his intelligence, and his compassion for his friends. That was what he had to focus on; not what the man looked like on the outside. Was he kidding himself, though? Hadn't he told Dean there had to be at least some sort of physical attraction, too? Well, if there wasn't, at the very least they could still be friends. 

 

 

3:05 p.m.

 

"Will that be all, Sir?" the elderly man asked Brian as he handed him a single, deep-red, long-stemmed rose, the leaves still intact, but the thorns removed. "You sure you don't want it wrapped?" he asked. 

 

"No." Brian shook his head as he hurriedly handed him a five-dollar bill and told him to keep the change. He was too wound up at the moment to think about anything else except what he was about to do, deciding that the unadorned rose was beautiful by itself; simple but elegant. He never had cared for the cheap-looking, light green tissue paper, or - even worse - cellophane that often accompanied flowers. Not that he was used to carrying around such a blatant display of romanticism at all; but at the time he had spoken with JT, it had been the best thing he could think of to instantly identify him in what was sure to be a sea of people. 

 

The seller smiled in pleasure at the generous tip as - with a nod at the man - Brian took a brief sniff of the fragrant scent of the jumbo-sized rose and took a moment to feel the silkiness of the petals, before he took a deep breath and walked further down the aisle of the market, heading toward the door leading into the Station's elegant concourse. 

 

 

3:06 p.m.

 

"There!" Emmett squealed, spotting another man carrying flowers. But it was an entire bouquet of red roses, not a single bud. Maybe this Dean had gotten carried away, though? The trio watched as the older, distinguished man with salt-and-pepper hair rushed over to a middle-aged woman and hugged her before presenting her with the flowers, a big smile breaking out on her face before they scurried away. 

 

"Well, he had to be at least twice as old as Justin," Emmett commented in an attempt to make the best of the situation. But he could tell that Daphne - and Justin, by the expression on his face - were starting to lose hope. "Maybe he got caught in traffic," he suggested as Daphne considered that. "You know what a bitch it can be to get here from lower Manhattan." Silently, however, they were both starting to think the same thing - that the man had either been leading Justin on, or had simply chickened out. 

 

"Or maybe he changed his mind, and isn't coming at all," Daphne voiced their mutual worries aloud. He felt Emmett reach over and squeeze her shoulder comfortingly as she sighed, about ready to give up as the clock crept toward 3:15 p.m. "Whatever happened, I think this is a waste of time. I think it's clear he's changed his mind. What a shitty thing to do to Justin." She frowned. "Justin has his phone number," she pointed out. "Why don't we tell him to just call him and ask him what's going on, or send him a text?" 

 

Emmett shook his head. "That number he uses is just for their calls," he revealed. "That's not the regular number he uses during the day. Even if he DID try to call him right now, he wouldn't be there to answer until later this evening." He sighed. "I think we'd better just forget it; he's not going to show up if he isn't here by now." He glanced over at his friend sympathetically. "What does Justin really know about this guy, anyway? He could be pretending to be anyone, and no one would be the wiser." Suddenly he felt just as foolish and gullible as Justin must be feeling at the moment. "Let's just forget it, and go try to cheer him up," he suggested, as he turned to head toward the restaurant. He walked a few steps away before Daphne grabbed his arm and let out a shriek that bounced off the walls around them. 

 

"Emmett! Wait!" 

 

He turned around to stare at her. "What?" 

 

"Look!" she commanded, as he followed the direction of her outstretched hand to observe a tall, dark-haired, handsome man rushing toward the center of the room, arriving from the 38th Street entrance. He was dressed impeccably in a tailored, expensive, dark-colored suit, polished shoes, a deep red shirt, and a charcoal-colored tie. Not a hair or button was out of place as he proceeded toward the clock by the ticket counter, threading his way through the crowd of people as he clutched a rose that closely matched his silk shirt. His long legs carried him confidently toward the clock initially...but then he slowed down as he neared it, scanning the immediate area as he appeared to be looking for something - or someone. 

 

"Well, shut my mouth," Emmett murmured as his jaw dropped. "Is that man for real?" he asked in awe, stunned by the sheer masculinity the man exuded. "Could that tall piece of heaven be him?" 

 

Daphne's eyes widened in stunned disbelief. "He's gorgeous," she gushed, her face breaking out into a broad smile. "Do you think...?"

 

"...that's him?" Emmett finished Daphne's question, noticing her mouth had dropped open in astonishment like a fish on land, gasping for water. If this WAS the mysterious Dean, Justin had hit the fucking jackpot. 

 

She couldn't help openly ogling the dark-haired man. He was every gay man's dream come to life. If this was the man Justin had been having phone sex with...holy shit. She didn't even want to imagine being able to touch him for real. The question, was, though: WAS it Dean? And if it was, had this magnificent-looking man been sincere in his wish to get to know her friend for who he really was? Or was he only interested in what he looked like on the outside, or what he could get from him? Well, they were about to find out. 

 

 

Brian stood there near the clock, feeling a little foolish about this impetuous plan he had put into place last night. Why had he agreed to do this? He looked around, trying to focus on a man who appeared to be waiting for something...or him. He had no idea what JT looked like; only what he sounded like. Most of the people nearby were either waiting in line to buy tickets, carrying on conversations with others, or heading toward the trains, subways, or perhaps downstairs to catch a bite to eat. Most appeared to have some purpose in mind...that is, except for one man who was standing approximately ten feet away from him, alone and in no apparent hurry to move.

 

He had sandy-colored hair and dark brown eyes with a slim build, and was modestly dressed in a slate gray, long-sleeved cotton shirt, khaki pants, and loafers. Surprisingly, he looked quite a bit older than he had envisioned JT to be...if that's who it was. He had figured his unseen friend would maybe be in his early twenties, since he had often spoken about his wish to enter art school. This man, however, appeared to be in his late 40's, or maybe his early 50's. Could he be mistaken, then, and it wasn't him? But then he spied something instantly familiar that he was gripping in his hand, which confirmed Brian's suspicions about the man's identity: it was the same sketchbook that he had mailed back to JT. He watched as the man peered back at him with a slight smile and approached him slowly as he struggled to hold back the ‘fight-or-flight' emotion he was feeling. The man wasn't unattractive. He was...average. He had a lined, but interesting-looking face that appeared to be born from years of either hard work, adversity, or both. He had never gotten the impression from JT that he had lived an especially hard life, although at times he thought he detected a sort of melancholy in him. But he hadn't prepared himself for the man walking toward him - a man that was so opposite of what JT had been in his imagination - that he was briefly swept up in a dilemma as to what to do. He had to admit that his urge was to immediately turn and flee while he still had time, and pretend to ignore the fact that they had already locked gazes. Brian Kinney? Caught mingling (or even more) with an average-looking, middle-aged man? He would never live this down if word ever got out back home, although he couldn't think how it would. He had never told anyone about this mysterious, online pen pal. Not even Michael. It was something he had wanted to keep only to himself. It was...unique. Special to him, even, if he admitted it. 

 

But, no. No, he couldn't do this. This wasn't what he had signed up for at all, or what he had anticipated. He turned around just as the man was within speaking distance of him, intending to act like he hadn't even seen him at all. He would find some woman to give the rose to, and act like that had been his plan all along. His life would go on as it did before, with plenty of other men to occupy his time and satisfy his sexual urges. 

 

 

From their place up on the second level, Justin's two friends watched all of the drama unfolding below as their hopes were dashed, and their hearts dropped in despair; it seemed Justin's worst fear had been realized. This "Dean," or whatever the fuck his name really was, had had only one thing in mind: hooking up with whom he thought was some innocent lamb heading to the slaughter, fucking around with him - both in his head and with his body - and then just discarding him like a pile of dust under an unswept bed. He was vain; just like his looks indicated he would be. After all, if you looked like that, why would you bother with someone as ordinary looking as Vic, even though the man was the salt of the earth, had a heart of gold, and was Justin's biggest confidante? No. If the man was that shallow, then neither of them was interested in getting to know him, and, furthermore, if it were up to THEM, there would BE no more late-night calls. He didn't deserve someone like Justin. Daphne peered over at her friend, then, with tears in her eyes, and sadly shook her head, watching as Justin's face dissolved into a sorrowful expression.

 

They watched as Dean walked a few steps away before they turned to go, deciding they had seen enough, and both silently grateful that they had persuaded Justin to go take a seat in the restaurant, out of view of what was going on. They realized how extremely curious he must be, but they had persuaded him that it would be best if they checked him out first. Now they knew it had just been a long-distance flirtation; nothing more, nothing less. It was time to tell Justin to just let it go, and get on with his life. Daphne took a quick shot of the handsome man with her camera phone, knowing Justin would want to know what he looked like, but dreading his reaction when he saw it and realized that the man was only interested in whatever he could get from him before dropping him like a hot pan on a stove burner.

 

"Poor Justin..." She murmured. "Let's go, Emmett." She turned to begin heading over to their friend...only to have Emmett grab her wrist tightly. "What?" she asked, perplexed. 

 

"Hang on a second! LOOK!" Emmett demanded excitedly, so adamant that she reluctantly turned around to peer down at the scene below and watched as Dean slowed his pace, the red rose still gripped in his hand, and then came to a complete stop, before he turned around...and walked back over toward Vic. They watched in rapt attention then as the handsome man and Vic were mere inches away, both friends dying to know what he was going to do or say, but knowing there was no way they could hear any of their conversation. Was it possible that they had they been wrong about him? 

 

 

A few moments earlier...

 

Brian took a few steps to head toward the nearest exit...and then glanced down at the rose he still held firmly in his hand. A flower that had begun as just a tightly closed, green bud, and then had eventually flowered into something spectacular. He recalled all the emails and talks he had had with JT; how he had come to care deeply for this stranger he had never met, simply on the basis of listening to his hopes and dreams, and hearing the kindness, passion, drive, and compassion he frequently heard coming from the other side of the computer, whether in writing or verbally. There had been something so comfortable about having such intimate anonymity; he had told this man things he would have never dreamed of telling anyone else. Not even Michael, or Lindsay, or even Debbie, the mother he had never really had, but had been lucky enough to find in some of the darkest times of his life, and now considered her much more of a mother than his biological one would ever be.

 

JT had not only heard him as he spoke; he had listened to him; let him talk and bare his soul without judgment, only supplying advice or an answer when he asked for one. He had come to respect and value his opinion, however, and had found himself captivated by the man's insight and wit. No one could have faked the compassion and wisdom he had discovered with this stranger. The stranger he was about to walk away from, merely because he didn't fit his image of the ‘perfect' man. Just who WAS perfect? Him? Far from it. That was one important lesson he had, in fact, come to realize as he had spoken with JT, night after night. No one was perfect. And everyone needed someone, no matter if they were some homeless bum on the street, some schmuck working an 8-5 job that he hated...or Brian Kinney, the man who, from all outward appearances, had it all. But in reality, he didn't have the one thing he was looking for: someone to accept him for who he was, warts and all, and to confide not only his dreams in, but also his fears. So just what sort of man was he? And what sort of character and integrity did he possess - and more importantly, what sort of ethics did he want to impart to his son as a role model for him? 

 

He finally turned around slowly, noticing the other man still studying him intently; he hadn't moved from his spot. There could be no doubt this was JT; not with that all-too-familiar sketchbook in his hand. It seems his conjecture about him not being as young or naïve as he thought had been correct after all. Like some other artists and other creative individuals, apparently this very talented man had found his calling later in life. So be it, then. Walking over to the other man, he nodded at him as he glanced down at the familiar sketchbook. "I remember that," he told the other man softly as he lifted his eyes to gaze into the dark orbs of his companion, the sounds and sights of the busy concourse momentarily fading away. "It's...nice to finally meet you, JT." He tentatively held the rose up for the other man to accept, not really knowing where this encounter was going to lead. But he at least owed the man an evening with him. A nice dinner, some conversation. What else, if anything, that would happen was yet to be seen. He couldn't really say he felt any particular, strong pull toward this other man, but he knew that was the chance he had taken when he had asked to meet with him. "This is for you," he told him with a polite smile. "I thought you and I could go have some dinner, and get to know each other better." 

 

To his surprise, however, the other man shook his head and did not reach to grasp the rose. "No," he told Brian, who gazed at him in confusion and shock. "It's not for me." 

 

Brian frowned. The man's voice didn't resemble the one he had come to expect over the webcam. "I don't understand." 

 

"I'm not JT," was the astonishing admission. "My name's Vic. And your name is...?" 

 

Trying to come to grips with that revelation, Brian cleared his throat. "He already knows my name," he pointed out, watching as the man grinned at him with a sort of smug, Cheshire-like expression.

 

"Your REAL name," he prodded him. "I think you're much too smart to give that out to a complete stranger." 

 

Brian sighed, sensing that he wasn't going to get anywhere - or find out what the real JT looked like - if he wasn't upfront with this tenacious bulldog of a friend. "Brian," he told him after a brief pause. "Brian Kinney." 

 

Vic nodded, apparently satisfied. "Well, Brian Kinney. The rightful owner of that rose is up there, waiting for you at the restaurant." He cocked his head toward the west end of the concourse, where Brian knew an exclusive steak house restaurant was located. "Just tell the hostess that you're a guest of Justin Taylor, and she'll lead you to him." 

 

J.T. Justin Taylor. Wow. At last, he finally had a name to go with the initials, and he couldn't help smiling at the thought. "That's all you're going to tell me about him?" he asked, already knowing the answer before Vic replied.

 

"Yep," he told him with a grin. "You want me to spoil the suspense? No way." He grinned. "Have a good time. And don't fuck with him. Well, what I mean is, don't disappoint him...or you'll answer to ME." He had to rethink that phrasing, because something told him before the night was over, the two of them might do just that; he had a suspicion the two wouldn't be able to resist THAT temptation, not when this man got a good look at the REAL Justin Taylor. 

 

Brian eyed the man inquiringly, wondering what relationship he was to JT, uh, Justin. He would still have to get used to that name. And he was even more curious now about just what his unseen phone lover looked like. "How are you related to him?" he asked, not taking the man at his word. But he soon found out it was going to be a futile endeavor.

 

"He'll tell you all you need to know - and all he wants you to know," was the enigmatic reply, as Vic gave him a half-smirk. "Now go. He's waiting for you." He paused for a moment before adding, "He's been waiting for you for a long time." And with a ghost of a smile, he turned and headed toward the other end of the concourse, stealing a brief glance up at the balcony to notice Justin's friends standing there, an extremely attentive expression on their faces. Emmett had his hand on Daphne's shoulder as the pair stared down at them. Giving them a "get busy" sort of look, he gave them a pointed stare before proceeding toward the opposite end of the concourse, disappearing among the throng of people. He was leaving his charge to his own devices; at least to a degree. Vic knew Justin had instructed that no security be in place while he met with the mysterious "Dean" - a man Vic now knew was actually named Brian - but he still couldn't help placing a couple of men that were unfamiliar to Justin at one of the other dining tables, just to keep an eye on the young man. He knew that while Justin was a strong person, he also tended to carry his heart on his sleeve, so despite his previous promise, he couldn't walk away, knowing that he was unprotected. Although, from his initial impression of his suitor, he felt he wouldn't have anything to worry about. He grinned, thinking that Justin wasn't the only one who was about to be surprised. He was dying to see Kinney's expression when he first sees him, but he knew Justin would no doubt describe it to him later. He also knew that Daphne and Emmett would be lurking about, probably hiding from their friend's view as they watched the two interact. "You'd better treat him right, Kinney," he murmured, as he headed toward the subway station located near the front of the building.


	6. Getting to Know You...Getting to Know All About You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two men finally get to meet face-to-face. What will their reactions be, and where will it lead?

“Let’s go!” Daphne squealed, as they watched the gorgeous “Dean” heading toward the left staircase.  Fortunately, they had chosen to stand on the opposite side of the balcony, nearest the steakhouse, so they had a head start on him. And luckily for them, also, they were situated near a corner of the balcony where they could still observe both the mystery man and their friend without this “Dean” being all the wiser.

 

Quickly, the two friends hurried over to the corner they had carefully staked out beforehand, and ducked behind two leafy palm trees that effectively hid them from prying eyes, but also provided them with a fairly good view of Justin’s table.  It was not a moment too soon, either; they watched as the handsome, dark-haired man arrived on the landing not more than twenty feet away, and headed toward the restaurant’s reservation dais. 

 

“Lord almighty, that man is even better looking up close,” Emmett observed in a awe-filled voice as he watched Brian walking by them.  He examined him from his head down to his polished, expensive shoes.  “Wonder if he has a brother?”

 

“Yeah,” Daphne agreed, openly admiring the tall, elegant man.  “A younger, _straight_ brother.” 

 

“Two brothers,” Emmett amended.  “One for you, and one for me.  Or I might even share, if he looks anything like _him_.” 

 

“Shh!” Daphne warned him as they watched the man closely. The willowy blonde that was taking care of reservations flashed him an appreciative smile as he spoke to her.  “Oh, my God, Justin is going to shit in his pants – figuratively speaking, anyway,” Daphne amended with a grin.  “And hopefully, he’s going to get lucky tonight, too.” Emmett grinned back at her before gazing back over at their friend, who didn’t realize his mysterious phone lover was about to introduce himself. 

 

“Lucky boy, indeed,” he commented dryly.  “We should ALL be so lucky.” 

 

* * *

 

                           

Justin glanced down at his cellphone, his hopes fading as each minute ticked by.  It was now almost 20 minutes after.  How much longer should he wait?  He sighed, as he picked up his wine glass and swallowed the remaining liquid down his throat, preparing to scoot back from his table and admit defeat…when he glanced up and saw a tall, dark-haired man slowly walking toward him.  The man could have just come from a fashion model shoot, except for a few errant strands of hair that rebelliously fell into his hazel-colored eyes.  But he looking stunning in his tailored suit that hugged his lean, slightly muscular frame, and accentuated his height.  What grabbed Justin’s attention the most, however, was the large, red, long-stemmed rose he gripped in his hand as their eyes locked on each other.  Justin could feel his heart begin to pound impossibly fast as he contemplated if he should stand up.  More the point, _could_ he stand up?  Because at that moment, his legs felt like jelly.  This was his ‘Dean?’

 

Swallowing hard, he stared intently at the man as he walked closer to him, self-consciously licking his lips to convey his nervousness.  Just before the stranger reached his table, he finally found some way to scoot back from his seat and stand up, briefly using his left hand to steady himself on the table’s surface.  The closer the man got to him, the more his heart continued to pound, and the more he wished he had some more wine to drink. 

_  
_

* * *

 

 

_A couple minutes earlier…_

Feeling a bit foolish and somewhat awkward clutching the rose in his hand, Brian proceeded toward the reservation dais, observing a slim, blonde woman standing there, wearing the navy blue uniform of the restaurant with her hair swept up into a casual chignon.  Sensing someone facing her, she glanced up from the reservation list to bestow Brian with a broad, flirtatious smile.  It was an expression not unused to what Brian encountered frequently, but he didn’t spare her much of his attention as he advised her that he was there to meet with Justin Taylor.

 

For a brief moment, there was a flicker of disappointment from the attractive woman that she hadn’t succeeded in capturing Brian’s attention, but with a polite smile and a nod, she advised him, “Yes, of course; come with me,” before turning to head toward the corner of the restaurant.  She walked several steps toward a smaller, round table adorned with a crisp, white tablecloth, a fat pillar candle in the middle, and two place settings, before she pointed toward it and advised him, “Mr. Taylor is waiting for you over there.”

 

_This is it,_ Brian couldn’t help thinking. He was about to find out what his very own, personal ‘Warhol’ finally looked like.  Would he bear any resemblance to the man he had met before?  Swallowing hard, he followed the direction with his eyes…and it seemed like his heart stopped beating for a couple of moments as he nodded at her and managed a polite ‘thank you’ before she turned and headed back to her station.  But Brian paid her no mind; his eyes were riveted on the man sitting alone at the table.  _My God._   The ambient lighting made the man’s blond hair shine, and his flawless, pale skin glow. As the other man slowly rose from his chair in anticipation of their meeting, he could see more of his slim physique, a royal blue shirt accentuating the color of his blue eyes, and the skinny, dark-colored jeans displaying slim legs, mostly hidden below the table’s surface.  Not wanting to appear rude, his eyes still couldn’t help traveling down to the slim waistline, and then even further, as far as his eyes could go, before flicking back up to see a slight blush tint the other man’s face.

 

He figured he had been correct after all about his age.  He appeared to be in his early twenties, perhaps, and wasn’t as tall as he, and his smaller figure and physical characteristics were dramatically different than his.  He normally was attracted to dark-haired men for some reason.  But this man was…absolutely breathtaking.  Breathtaking like when you first see the majesty of a mountain peak, or the vivid colors in a rainbow after the rain.  He was simply perfect in his eyes.  He smiled at him, receiving a tentative, nervous smile in return as he finally reached the table.  His eyes lingered on the other man’s face for a few seconds before he held out the long-stemmed rose with his left hand.  “I believe this belongs to you,” he softly stated. 

 

Justin couldn’t take his eyes off this man; he was speechless as he unabashedly continued to stare at him.  He smiled a little wider with pleasure as he reached out to accept it, feeling a jolt of electricity like nothing he had ever experienced before shoot through his entire body as their fingers grazed each other’s. “It’s beautiful,” he murmured as he accepted it, bringing it up to his nose to briefly inhale the delicate fragrance.  “Thank you.” 

 

Brian nodded in response, captivated, and silently debating just what – or who – was the most beautiful object at the moment. “So the JT stands for Justin Taylor.”  The words rolled off his tongue as he spoke the real name aloud for the first time. 

 

Justin nodded.  “Yeah.”  He laughed.  “So ‘Just in Time’ wasn’t that far off, actually.”  He stood there expectantly, eager to have the favor returned.  He was dying to know his true name after all this time.

 

Brian grinned, finally supplying the information Justin had fervently wanted for so long. “I’m Brian.  Brian Kinney,” he told him. 

 

Placing the velvety flower down onto the table, Justin reached his hand out, finding his heart thumping in anticipation.  _If a simple caress of fingertips could do what it did before_ …As soon as Brian’s hand reached over to grip his, adrenalin surged through his entire body.  His companion’s skin was firm and warm under his grasp as he curled his fingers around the other man’s, both of them standing there, too reluctant to break off their handshake.  Finally, Justin released his hand, immediately mourning the loss of his touch, as he gestured at the seat across from him.  “Well, Mr. Kinney.  Why don’t you have a seat, and stay a while?” he invited him with a beguiling smile.

 

Brian thought that smile was very sexy and suggestive, whether Justin meant it to be or not, as he pulled his chair back and sat down, adjusting himself slightly in the seat to admire the man sitting across from him.  That playful tone of voice had made his cock definitely take notice.  And now that he knew the body behind the phone sex voice, he found himself temporarily unable to think of anything else but experiencing it for real.  He cleared his throat as he observed Justin eyeing him curiously.   “So…Justin Taylor.  Tell me about the REAL man now.” 

 

Justin’s face warmed in response to the intensity of Brian’s stare, even in the subdued lighting.  “What would you like to know?” he asked as a waiter appeared, asking Brian if he wanted some wine, and refilling Justin’s.  After pouring some into both glasses and leaving, Brian took a sip, observing Justin from across the table over the rim of the glass, before he replied, “Everything.” 

 

* * *

 

 

“Owww,” Emmett groaned as he rose upward to stand straight, arching his back to stretch it.  “My back is fucking killing me.” 

 

“What are you doing?” Daphne hissed in alarm.  “Do you want them to see us?”  Now that Emmett was standing fully erect, it was easier to detect him from behind the fronds of the potted palm. 

 

Emmett snorted as the two friends observed the pair sitting across from each other at the table in the far corner.  “Are you kidding?  They only have eyes for each other.  We could be standing in pink tutus in plain sight of them, and neither one of them would even know we exist.”

 

Daphne smiled dreamily.  “I know…isn’t it great?  Are they smitten or what?’  She watched as the two took occasional sips of their wine in between chatting, a laugh or smile erupting frequently as they continued to talk.  “And just think – it was all because Justin lost his sketchbook.  That was the luckiest day of his life.”

 

Emmett concurred.  He had to admit, he was somewhat envious that such a gorgeous man was interested in Justin, and how fortunate his friend had been to find him.  But mainly he was sincerely happy that Justin had apparently found someone compatible with him – and who had proven he wasn’t just interested in him due to his looks or his money.  “I’ll say,” he murmured, as he continued to openly admire the man’s elegant appearance, and the long fingers grasped around the stem of his wine glass as he stared intently over at Justin.  “I can just imagine what those fingers might be capable of doing, and not just grasping a full-bodied glass of chardonnay.” 

 

Daphne grinned.  “Yeah…I think he’ll be grasping some _other_ full body later tonight, if that’s any indication.”  Emmett chuckled in agreement as she abruptly frowned.  “Emmett?” 

 

“Yeah, Daph?” 

 

“You think Justin’s ready for…you know…the real thing?  Because that man has to be assuming that’s where this date is going to lead, especially after what they’ve been doing every night over the phone.  And from the looks that Justin’s giving him, I think he’s thinking the exact, same thing.”  She paused, feeling a little awkward, as she crinkled her eyes to ask, “Does it hurt a lot?” 

 

“The first time?” Emmett responded.  She nodded as he scoffed, “Are you kidding?  Having someone’s cock up your ass?  Yeah, it hurts.  But if you care about the other person – and I think both of them do – then it makes a difference. And with the way the heat is practically pouring off both of them right now, I don’t think there’s any doubt about where this is heading.”  He gazed over at them, another twinge of envy rearing its head, before he told her, “Maybe we should go.  My back is killing me, and if Justin _does_ see us somehow, it’ll make him even MORE nervous.  Besides, Uncle Vic told me that he has a couple of security men eating at another table; Justin just doesn’t know that, though.” 

 

Daphne smiled.  “I’m not surprised,” she replied fondly, appreciative of how protective the older man was for their friend; it had been his idea to impersonate Justin to make sure what this “Dean’s” intentions truly were. 

 

“You sure we need to go?” she pleaded.  Her eyes sparkled.  “I’m enjoying this show immensely.”  She stared over at the man.  “I can’t wait to find out what his real name is. There is NO way that man is a _Dean._ ” 

 

“Daphne!  Sweetie, if Justin sees us, he’ll feel humiliated.  The security guys will watch out for him.  And then when he gets home from his big adventure, we will make him tell us all about it,” he added matter-of-factly.  “Want to bet whether it’s later tonight?  Or tomorrow?” 

 

“With the way HE looks?  We’ll be lucky if he’s home by the end of the week.”

 

“Well, unless Mr. Sexy extends his business trip, I believe our little adventurer over there will have to say goodbye to him tomorrow.” 

 

Daphne frowned.  “Oh, shit! I had forgotten about that!  Maybe he’ll stay longer.” 

 

Emmett shrugged as they continued to watch the two men obviously enjoying themselves as they conversed over their meal.  “I wish he would, for Justin’s sake.  But we’ll just have to wait and see.”  He smiled slyly.  “In the meantime, I think they will make the most of what time they DO have.”  He gently grabbed Daphne’s arm, confident that no one would attract either man’s attention at the moment; they were too absorbed in each other.  “Come on; let’s go talk to Vic.  I can’t wait to hear what this Dean said to him, and to get his impression of him.” 

 

“Yeah…and hopefully find out what his real name is,” Daphne pointed out.  She sighed, knowing Emmett was right. The last thing she wanted was for Justin to feel self-conscious, and he would if he knew they were spying on him. “Okay,” she grudgingly agreed.  

 

  
Both friends peered over at Justin one last time to see him and the other man still thoroughly occupied with their conversation before they quietly turned and headed toward the staircase, eager to meet back up with Vic at the penthouse to swap details and impressions of the now visible stranger, secure in the knowledge that they weren’t truly leaving their friend undefended.  Besides, both silently concurred that Justin could more than take care of himself.  The other man just wasn’t aware of that yet. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Gus really did that?” Justin asked, his mouth hanging open in response to Brian’s statement.  “No way!”

 

Brian grinned as he took a stab of his filet mignon.  “Oh, yes, he did.  You know kids. They say exactly what they mean, and he was simply making a statement based on what he had heard from one of his moms.” 

 

Justin laughed.  “But asking what a ‘windbag’ was to their dinner guest?  Oh, shit. That must have been awkward.” 

 

Brian shrugged.  “Sonny Boy is nothing but observant…and brutally honest.  The Munchers should know by now to watch what they say in front of the impressionable lad, and keep their not-so-complimentary names for Mel’s clients private.”  Brian had been explaining what both Lindsay and Mel did for a living a few minutes earlier, Justin finding it quite interesting that Gus’s biological mother also had a passion for art.  He hoped that one day he might get the chance to meet not only Gus – since he felt like he knew him already – but also the two mothers.   

 

Justin frowned as he held his wine glass up to his lips.  “Munchers?” 

 

“Yep. My nickname for them.” 

 

Justin set his glass down with a laugh.  “And how did they get THAT nickname?”

 

Brian shuddered. “You don’t want to know.  It involves pussy and places I’d rather not go.  No self-respecting queer male would possibly want me to elaborate on that.”

 

Justin chuckled as he used his fork to swirl the last bite of his ribeye in his steak sauce before plopping it into his mouth, a drop of the thick, sticky substance catching on the corner of his mouth.  His eyes widened as he watched Brian reach over and use the pad of his index finger to slowly wipe it off.  He felt his heart pounding at the simple gesture as Brian slid his finger into his mouth and sucked the sauce off, declaring it “delicious,” and making Justin think of some other scenario where he might say the same thing to him.  In fact, Brian had made that sort of comment before while they had been lying in their beds at night after a vigorous round of phone sex, telling Justin that he imagined what his come would taste like, and making him blush beet red as a result. Of course, at the time Brian couldn’t see that; but now, he felt his face warming in response to the simple gesture, and he knew even in the subdued candlelight, it would be impossible to disguise. 

 

“Dessert?” Brian asked with a knowing smile. 

 

“Huh?” Justin asked dumbly, wondering if he had missed part of the question during his daydreaming. 

 

“I said…would you like some dessert?  Or…would you prefer to have it later?  Say…Back at my hotel.” 

 

_Oh, God_ , Justin bit back his moan.  He knew precisely what Brian was implying with the word ‘dessert.’ Was he ready for this?  He knew he wanted it; _had_ wanted it from the moment he had first heard Brian’s sultry, smooth-as-silk voice over the phone, and the sexy, sometimes dirty words that flowed out of his mouth.  His tone of voice, his demands, and even the gentle words he spoke all tightly ensnared him, and always made him yearn for a time when they could consummate their imagined trysts in reality.  Now, it seemed that might be about to take place.  

 

“Justin?” he heard Brian utter softly, as he blinked to peer over at him. Brian set his cloth napkin down beside his plate, which had held what had turned out to be an amazing meal, eagerly consumed in the presence of even more amazing company.  He couldn’t stop staring at the beauty of the man looking back at him as he admitted honestly, “I want you.  Fuck, you have no idea how much.  But I know we’ve just met, at least for the first time in person, so if you’re not ready for it…”  He had a strong suspicion that this would not only be the first time they would have sex in person, but the first time for Justin, period.  He couldn’t be absolutely sure, but he was normally a good judge of whether or not a person was a virgin, and after Justin telling him about his friend taking him to dance clubs and how uncomfortable he had felt there when guys had propositioned him (and he had no doubt there had been plenty), he had a strong suspicion that he was going to be Justin’s first.  And while he normally _hated_ the extra time and effort he always had to take with virgins, oddly enough this time it actually made the idea of being Justin’s first exciting.  Those enticing little moans, whimpers, and sighs of pleasure he always heard escaping his lips while they had engaged in phone sex had only made him want to have the opportunity to hear them in person. And he couldn’t wait to touch all that glowing, flawless skin currently on display.

 

Now Justin’s face was _really_ feeling heated.  Was the man a psychic?  “How did you know?” he whispered hoarsely, clearing his voice. 

 

“Know what?” 

 

“That I was feeling the same way.”  He averted his eyes for a few moments, only to steal a look over at Brian, who was scooting back from his chair, having insisted on paying for their bill, since it had been his idea to meet.  Brian still had no actual idea just how much wealth he possessed; only that he had enough means from his father’s inheritance to take his art classes, plus pay for the tuition to enter art school, provided he was accepted.  It wasn’t that he was trying to withhold that information from him.  But at the same time, he didn’t feel it would make a difference how he felt about him, and he suspected that Brian was more than comfortable himself financially.  He watched as Brian stood up and walked over to stand beside his chair. 

 

“Shall we go make ourselves more comfortable, then, Mr. Taylor?” Brian asked quietly, reaching down for Justin’s hand, and praying that his answer would be yes.  He was aching to explore every inch of his body…slowly and then harder; over and over again.  

 

His hand shaking slightly, Justin reached up to grasp Brian’s warm one in silent agreement, allowing him to pull him up from his seat.  There was no need for Brian to continue holding his hand for balance, but he didn’t mind the lingering touch as they stood there, eyeing each other and realizing the significance of what they were about to do.  The same tingle of electricity shot through both of him as they clasped hands before Brian reluctantly let go to hold his arm outward, palm up. 

 

“After you,” Brian graciously offered.  Unbeknownst to his dining companion, it wasn’t just chivalry at play at that moment; Brian didn’t mind silently acknowledging that he also wanted to take a better peek at Justin’s retreating form.  And what a form it was.  _Holy shit_.  For such a lithe figure, this man was magnificent, inside AND out, front and back.  One tidy, not-so-little package. He struggled to contain his physical reaction to his thoughts, grateful that Justin was walking in front of him, and couldn’t see what was going on, and attempted to tamper down his overt sign of arousal as they approached the reservation dais.  But just the sight of what little creamy-colored, smooth skin he could see was making him crazy with want, the slightly unruly hair, and light stubble on Justin’s face just adding to his allure.  On some men, that would look ludicrous; but with Justin, somehow he pulled it off.  It made him look sexy as hell, along with the royal blue shirt and the dark, skinny jeans that showed off his slim figure, while highlighting the perfect curves of his ass, which was quite possibly the best one he had ever seen. And just thinking that soon he might have his cock embedded in that ass… _Fuck_.  Now that just made it worse as they exited the restaurant and paused on the second floor balcony. 

 

Justin couldn’t help but notice Brian’s reaction to him as they stood there, causing him to blush.  His own cock was twitching at the thought that soon he could be linked to this man, bare skin on bare skin, and he would finally find out for the first time what it meant to be a gay male.  He couldn’t have picked a more perfect choice in his opinion, either.  But the thought also terrified him in a way.  Would he meet his expectations?  It was one thing to ‘act out the part’ on the telephone; quite another, however, to perform in front of a ‘live audience.’

 

Brian smirked.  “Seems we both have a problem that needs to be addressed,” he commented dryly, the pink blush on Justin’s neck and face not having gone unnoticed.  “So…my place…or yours?  I have a suite at the St. Regis down the street,” he informed him.  At that moment, however, he would have gone just about anywhere, luxurious or not, just to get this aching need he was feeling out of his system.  Although something told him that one time with Justin wasn’t nearly going to be enough. 

 

Justin pondered that question, but for just a moment.  While his penthouse bedroom would certainly be more than comfortable enough, at the same time did he want Vic and his friends – however well-intentioned – loitering nearby, hoping to glean some peeks at what they were about to do, or hear them in the throes of sex?  Just the thought of having them somewhere nearby comforted him, but also worried him.  This would be his first time with a man – with a sexy, gorgeous, oh-so-masculine man – and the last thing he wanted was to have a potential audience.  No, everyone’s first time should be special, and the only way to hopefully ensure that was to choose an alternative location.  “Your place,” he told him firmly. 

 

Brian smiled with a nod.  “Okay, then.  It’s supposed to be a nice night, and it’s only a couple blocks away.  I know how much you hate walking,” he teased, his half-smile belying his seriousness.  “But maybe you could make an exception in this case.” 

 

Justin grinned, evoking a return expression from Brian.  “I think I could live with that,” he replied.  His eyes suddenly widened in alarm, however, making Brian concerned.  “Oh, no!  Wait here!” he told him, as he turned and hurried back into the restaurant, leaving his companion utterly perplexed. What the hell?  He frowned with concern; that is, until he saw Justin returning with the rose in his hand. 

 

Brian looked over at him in amusement.  “I didn’t want to forget it,” he explained sheepishly. 

 

Brian nodded. That rose had played a crucial part in their meeting. “Ready?” he asked as Justin nodded back at him.  The two walked over to descend using the left-handed staircase, the coolness of the banner serving to counter the heat both men were feeling inside, but both realizing their relief from this burning desire inside them would soon, no doubt, be flaring up again. 

 

* * *

 

 

Justin gazed at the flower market booth as they exited out of the concourse via the same way that Brian had initially entered.  “Is that where you got this?” he asked, seeing some similar blooms resting in a cone-shaped container near the side of the floral booth.  He couldn’t help thinking that his particular flower, however, was far and above more beautiful than any of the others.  He wondered if that had been a lucky happenstance, or if it had been more intentional.  He liked to think the latter as Brian nodded in affirmation. 

 

He sniffed the air as they walked past the cheese market.  “I love cheese,” he sighed with a smile.  “And Murray’s is the best,” he declared, his eyes sweeping appreciatively over all the types of cheeses on display, “but I’m stuffed now after that dinner we had.”  He glanced over at Brian.  “What?”  

 

Brian chuckled.  “Nothing.  It’s just amazing that after all this time – and everything we’ve talked and written about in the past two months – that I’m still learning new things about you.  I shouldn’t be surprised about your love of cheese, though; you polished off your dinner with a speed that would rival a Guinness Book World record,” he teased Justin, who poked him in playful indignation.  

 

“I didn’t see much left on YOUR plate, either,” Justin pointed out.  “But I do have a confession to make.”  Brian arched an eyebrow inquisitively as he explained, “I didn’t eat much today.  Didn’t have lunch at all, so I was pretty hungry tonight…at least, once my stomach quit churning.”  He added, a little embarrassed, “I was so nervous I couldn’t think of eating…until I finally met you.  Then it was like I’d known you for a lifetime.” 

 

Brian smiled, nodding slowly.  “I know what you mean,” he murmured softly as they exited the concourse to the sights and sounds of the bustling street outside.  “I feel the same way.” 

 

Justin stopped, both men retreating against the building’s exterior wall to allow others to pass them. Time stood still for a moment.  “You do?” he asked, wonder in his voice. 

 

“Yeah, I do,” Brian confirmed, almost astounded himself by his revelation. But it was the truth; he had told Justin things he had never told anyone else, and now that he had met him, it only reinforced how comfortable he felt with him.  To his surprise, too, it wasn’t just a physical thing, although God knows he was attracted to him intensely.  But he had been right:  Justin was more than a match for him intellectually, and while he was quite a bit younger than he, age didn’t seem to be an issue when it came to his knowledge of current events, books, movies, and any other topic he threw his way during their conversations online and tonight at dinner.  His opinion of Justin had only rose higher now.  It made him feel good to think that Justin felt the same way.  “There IS one difference, though,” he added, his voice low.  No one seemed to give them much thought as they hurried along their way to destinations unknown, but he still felt a need to keep his voice quiet for some reason.

 

Justin furrowed his brow.  “What difference?” 

 

Brian eyed him so intently that, once more, Justin felt his face warming and his pulse quickening.  “I’m _still_ hungry…but not for food.”

 

Justin surprised himself by reaching out to grasp Brian’s hand to thread their fingers together; a bold move for him.  With more audacity, he told him, “On second thought…I definitely still have room for some dessert.” 

 

Brian grinned, his fingers curling over the younger man’s as they began to resume their walk toward the hotel.  “I was hoping you’d say that,” he murmured as Justin smiled.

 


	7. The First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin finally finds out what it's like for real this time. Will it live up to his expectations? Brian's? And what will happen when Brian finds out about 'The Test?'

They arrived at the hotel approximately ten minutes later, having to stop for just a couple minutes on the way so Justin could admire the spiral, pointed top of the Chrysler Building nearby, lit up to highlight its amazing detail.  It was one of Justin's favorite buildings in midtown Manhattan, perhaps even more so than the Empire State Building, at least in reference to its elaborate, classic, beautiful, art-deco style.  Brian waited patiently, amused by the enraptured look on Justin's face as he took a few minutes to take some photos of it with his camera phone for future sketches, along with a vertical, panoramic shot with Brian in the foreground and a selfie of the two of them together, before they finally proceeded onto their destination.

 

"Evening, Mr. Kinney," the doorman politely greeted Brian as he opened the door for the two men.  Justin had never been inside this older but sleek hotel, but was immediately enchanted by the lobby interior, with its multitude of glass and curved, maroon, velour couches that hugged two large poles in the center, providing an area for guests who were checking in or out to sit.  The woman situated behind the lobby desk to their right nodded at them in greeting as Brian led his companion straight ahead to the elevators, pressing the button and feeling relieved when the door shortly opened to allow them entry, since the two elevators could be notoriously slow at times.  As the door slid closed behind them and they found themselves alone, the awkward silence was relieved somewhat when Justin reached over to grab his companion's hand.  Brian glanced over at Justin, then, as the fairly small, intimate elevator slowly continued its rise toward the top floor. 

 

"Warhol?" 

 

Justin had to smile at that despite his nervousness.  "Yeah?" 

 

Brian peered over at him for a few seconds before he replied, "I had a great time at dinner tonight."  And it was the truth; he had thoroughly enjoyed just being in Justin's company, getting to know him better, while at the same time relishing  a fantastic dinner and a wonderful bottle of wine. 

 

Justin's smile grew wider with pleasure; their first face-to-face meeting couldn't have gone any better, and he was feeling a warm buzz now from the two glasses of wine he had consumed earlier.  "Me, too." 

 

Brian nodded as they intertwined their fingers together.  "I can't believe I'm about to say this," he began, shaking his head in disbelief.  "But it would _still_ be a great night, even if we don't..."  He paused.  _‘Fuck' for some reason didn't seem like the right word for him to use in that sentence, which surprised the hell out of him._ Up until now, that had been the ONLY word he had ever used to describe having sex.  But it felt distinctively out of place here.

 

Justin nodded in understanding, touched by what Brian had just said.  "I'm glad you feel that way," he told him softly as he shifted slightly so they were facing each other before he spoke again, his voice full of conviction.  "But I know what I want.  And I've been waiting for this for...a long time."   His face grew heated as he clarified, "I've thought about what it would be like in my mind so many times now," he admitted, feeling embarrassed.  In fact, it had occupied numerous, vivid dreams each night in his sleep, over and over again. He soon found out he wasn't the only one that felt that way, however.

 

"Well, that makes two of us," Brian confessed as Justin's eyes widened.  "You're not the _only_ one who's been wondering."  He smirked.  "I do know that you're a whiz at phone sex," he told Justin, making him blush even deeper.  "And now...how about we find out how good a kisser you are?" he added, just now realizing that he hadn't had the pleasure of feeling those full lips pressed against his yet.  Letting go of Justin's hand, their eyes locked as he pulled the younger man closer to him by gripping his upper arms, gently pushing their bodies closer and watching as the blue eyes darkened in response.  His eyes skimmed down to rest at the pair of dark, pink lips that were practically begging to be kissed, to be invaded, to be taken, along with a mouth to explore and conquer, and he was relieved to see Justin tentatively place his hands to rest on his chest, indicating his compliance as their eyes met once more, the elevator continuing its slow rumble toward the top of the hotel.

 

Every fiber of Brian's body ached with need and longing for this beautiful half-stranger. But he also knew he had to go slow, as hard as he was finding that to do.  Brian leaned in slightly and hesitated, peering into Justin's eyes for permission, before he saw the blue eyes fluttering closed in silent acquiescence.  He applied gentle pressure against Justin's lips, noticing how soft and pliant they were, and how intriguing he smelled, which only heightened his desire. He heard a whimper low in Justin's throat as his tongue teasingly slid across his lips, asking for entrance.  He felt Justin's hands slide up to come to rest on his shoulders for balance as his mouth parted slightly, enough for Brian to slide his tongue inside and obtain his first taste of what he hoped would be many more kisses before the night was over. 

 

_Oh, God_ , Justin thought as Brian plundered his mouth with skilled expertise.  _This man is a fantastic kisser, and he smells so damn good_. He felt like he was drowning in their kiss, dizzy with pleasure, as Brian deepened it even more, forcing him to grasp Brian's shoulders even tighter for fear he would collapse into a weakened heap if his companion were to let go of him.  He felt Brian's hands sliding around to pull their bodies even closer, then, and he thought he would drown from all the intense sensations rushing through him. 

 

The ding that sounded then and the slight lurch as the car slowed to a stop, signaling their arrival on the top floor - and the gasp that erupted as the doors slowly opened - was like a cold bucket of water suddenly being thrown on them, causing Brian and Justin to reluctantly break off their kiss, both men flushed and struggling to catch their breaths as they looked over at two, gray-haired women who appeared to be in their 70's.  Both women had their mouths open wide, gaping like a couple of fish out of water as they faced the open elevator car.

 

Brian smirked at them, one side of his mouth turned up in amusement.  "Going down, ladies?" he asked innocently, as he pulled Justin from the elevator car.  The two barely waited until the doors to the elevator car had closed before the two men looked at each other and burst out laughing, easing some of the sexual tension. 

 

"Oh, my God!" Justin exclaimed with a giggle, his last image of the two women with the stunned looks on their faces ingrained in his mind.  "I don't think they've ever encountered that at Bingo." 

 

Brian chuckled; the first real one Justin had heard, and he had to smile at the sound.  "Yeah...probably the most exciting entertainment they've ever had.  It's a shame we didn't ask them to stick around for the main show."  He noticed Justin blushing as he grinned.  He couldn't help leaning in to steal another quick kiss - this one more of a peck on the lips - before he gripped Justin lightly by the wrist.  "This way," he told him, as the two took off down the right-hand side of the hallway.  It seemed quite natural for Brian to let go of Justin's wrist and rest his hand, instead, on Justin's shoulder as they approached the last door on the right.  Brian reached inside his pocket to retrieve his key card and slide it down the slot to open the door, standing back somewhat so Justin could enter first.  As he passed by the suite's desk, he loosened his tie and shrugged off his suit jacket to drape it carefully over the back of the accompanying wooden chair.

 

He hadn't kept any lights on when he had left; only the curtains kept all the way open.  But it didn't matter, because the city that was known for ‘never sleeping' provided all the lighting needed to navigate around the spacious, two-room suite.  Justin was immediately drawn to the large, expansive windows as he walked over to peer out at the dazzling view.  His own penthouse had a magnificent view, also, but was a different type of vista; it displayed more greenery from Central Park, interspersed with the never-ending skyscrapers, of course, but also some expensive, exclusive apartment buildings as well.  He always loved to see other perspectives of the city, however, so he was enchanted by all the twinkling lights below, and the constant, yellow river of taxies driving up and down the street, along with the throngs of pedestrians.  He could even see part of Grand Central Station, along with the Chrysler Building all lit up in full glory, and he longed at that moment for his sketchbook, but Vic had taken it back with him to the penthouse for safekeeping.  He flexed his fingers; a gesture that did not go unnoticed by Brian, who padded quietly over to stand behind him.  "You're dying to draw that, aren't you?" he asked, Brian's breath warm against his ear as he expressed Justin's wish perfectly, almost as if he could read his mind.

 

Justin smiled.  "Yeah," he admitted.  He shivered as a pair of strong arms encircled him, pulling him back against Brian's lean frame.  The man's touch was like a spark, making his body feel like it was ready to combust, even with both of them fully clothed.  He couldn't imagine feeling his bare skin against Brian's.  "I've always been fascinated with all the activity here.  All the different cultures, the people, the bustling energy of the city." 

 

Brian loosened his hold sufficiently enough for Justin to turn around in his arms, and his breath caught in his throat.  Some men were ruggedly handsome, or distinguished, or cultured.  But _beautiful_ was the only adjective that came to his mind at that moment to describe Justin; shadows and twinkling lights cast intriguing patterns across his face as they stared into each other's eyes.  He decided Justin was a work of art in and of himself. 

 

"What?" Justin whispered curiously, observing how intently Brian was staring at him.

 

"Nothing," he reassured him.  "It's just that after all our emails, and our...talks," he began, emphasizing the last word as Justin's pulse acccelerated at the thought of what those ‘talks' had entailed recently.  "After all this time, I felt like I already knew a lot about you.  It was obvious you were passionate about your art, and that you were intelligent; that you were sharp-witted with a wicked sense of humor, and that we had a lot of the same tastes in music and movies..."  He paused as Justin furrowed his brow slightly, wondering where he was leading with their conversation.  "...But I didn't know until I saw you for the first time tonight in person just how fucking beautiful you are on the _outside_ , too."  _Shit, had he really just said that out loud?_ Brian thought in alarm. But he could tell by the blinding smile he received in return that he had, indeed, verbalized it.  _Fuck it anyway,_ he decided abruptly.  He pulled Justin closer to his body, craving another taste of the man's lips as he leaned in to steal another kiss, this time Justin earnestly responding in kind, opening his mouth willingly as Brian's tongue plunged inside. After a brief moment, he did the same, their kiss deepening and their desire flaring to an almost excruciating level. 

 

"Brian," Justin's panted as they finally broke off their kiss.  He stared into the magnificent-looking face, captivating patterns dancing across his brow and angular face.  He didn't know exactly how he would feel after what he hoped was about to happen; he just knew how badly he had to have it.  "Fuck, I want..."  He bit his lower lip in hesitation, his mouth tingling from their kiss, and his body feeling on fire from Brian's touch. 

 

"Tell me," Brian quietly commanded, his hands coming to rest on either side of Justin's face as a pair of blue eyes shone back at him.  He could barely breathe at the moment; he had always been one to scoff at romantic nonsense such as candlelight dinners, flowers (especially roses!), and anything that even remotely resembled a date. But with this man, he had somehow managed to do all three in one night. _What was happening to him?_   As the lights from the city seemed to sparkle in Justin's eyes, however, he knew one thing:  he was lost.  Drowning in a sea of emotions he had never felt before.  It scared him in a way; terrified him, actually.  But it also felt exhilarating; it felt right.  "What do you want, Justin?" he whispered, his voice ragged. 

 

"You," Justin breathed out the answer that Brian was hoping for.  "I want _you_." 

 

Brian nodded in relief as he plundered Justin's mouth again, their arms wrapping around each other to mold themselves tightly together, body-to-body, and making their need even more obvious.  Pulling himself away eventually from the inviting lips, now swollen with his heated kisses, Brian was tempted to tear off all their clothes, right then and there, and take Justin on the fucking couch.  Literally.  But he knew the first time would be an anxious one for this young man, and if he were truthful with himself, he wouldn't want Justin's first time to be one filled with pain and roughness, along with allowing any lucky voyeurs who might possibly see them from the slightly taller buildings across the street, although that did make him just a big turned on at the thought. 

 

So he took Justin's hand, instead, and led him into the bedroom to pause beside the king-sized bed.  Turning to face him, Brian reached over tentatively to grasp the hem of Justin's pullover shirt, hearing the blond's sharp intake of breath as his fingers touched his bare flesh.  Getting a nod of confirmation back to proceed, he deftly gripped the shirt as Justin reached his hands over his head briefly to help remove it, at last allowing Brian a better glimpse of the pale, smooth skin underneath.  _Yes...Beautiful,_ he thought to himself, as the fingertips of his right hand reached over to lightly trace Justin's breastbone.  He could feel the rapid beating of his companion's heart before he struggled urgently to loosen his tie some more, pulling it quickly over his head.  Twirling it a couple of times like a cowboy would with a lasso, he succeeded in breaking a little of Justin's anxiety by earning a small giggle from him, before he grinned and threw it haphazardly onto the stuffed chair nearby.  Watching Justin's eyes intently, he began to unbutton his dress shirt like a Chippendale dancer would tease the audience in a night show - only to have Justin say, "No."  Brian frowned.  _Had he changed his mind after all?_

 

He understood when Justin explained shyly, "I want to do it." Nodding, he dropped his hands to his side in compliance, then, watching Justin unbutton his shirt with slightly shaky hands, and feeling that electricity he always felt whenever he touched him, even if it were only brushing his fingertips against his skin.  He watched him pause after he had opened the shirt partway, almost as if he were studying a work of art, before Justin resumed his mission, and finally had all the buttons undone, the open flaps of the shirt providing a better look at Brian's toned, golden-colored chest.

 

Brian closed his eyes as he felt Justin place his hands, palms down, on his chest, feeling how warm they were; a rush of desire flooded through him as he then felt the hands slowly sliding up until they came to rest on his shoulders.  Opening his eyes, he found Justin staring at him, a look of wonder on his face; his eyes indicating the same type of desire he was feeling.  "Justin..." he murmured, as he cupped the other man's face with his hands and once more kissed him, deeply but briefly this time, before he used his hands to gently but firmly push his companion to lie down on the bed, and shrugging off the shirt to let it float down onto the floor beside him.  Standing at the end of the bed, Brian was practically salivating at the thought of seeing the rest of Justin's body as he reached over to open the lone button on the pants before sliding the zipper down.  He leaned down to remove Justin's loafers and socks, the ‘thumping' sound as the shoes hit the floor the only sound in the deathly silence, except for the rapid pants of breath coming from above him as he instructed Justin, "Lift your hips up."   

 

He saw Justin swallow hard - no doubt from nervousness - before he braced himself with his arms on the bed and did as Brian asked, allowing him to grasp his jeans and slide them down his slim legs, pulling off first one leg and then the other, until he was nude except for a pair of white briefs.  Briefs that left nothing to the imagination as far as Justin's desire for him.  He saw a pink tint rise to his cheeks as he told him, "Don't be embarrassed.  Fuck, you're incredible," he murmured.  Adrenalin rushing through him, he performed one, last ritual:  pulling on Justin's briefs to finally release his cock, surprisingly larger than he would have suspected, but secretly delighted.  He couldn't wait to taste it, touch it...own it. 

 

Justin felt laid bare in more ways than one.  But the overt look of lust on Brian's face, along with his obvious admiration for his body, made him feel more at ease.  He didn't know where the courage came from, but he found himself telling Brian, "Now you."  God, the man had a magnificent torso:  lightly muscles arms, tight pecs, and a slim waist.  And those fingers.  So long and elegant.  Just the thought of what those fingers might be doing soon made his heart pound with anticipation. 

 

Brian nodded with a smile, unzipping his pants and retrieving some condoms and a small tube of lube from his pocket to place them on the nightstand.  Toeing off his shoes and then pulling off his socks, he pulled both his dress pants and briefs down with one motion, stepping out of them and carefully folding the pants up to place them, along with his briefs, on the overstuffed chair.  He turned to peer over at Justin, whose mouth was open in amazement as he rose to sit up on the bed, and couldn't help smirking.  "I see we both like the view," he murmured as he walked closer to him. 

 

Justin licked his lips.  "You're...You're amazing," he whispered in awe, his eyes flicking down from Brian's face and chest, and coming to rest on a large, perfectly shaped cock. His eyes lingered there before he continued his journey downward to admire Brian's long legs.  And his feet.  He had never thought he would have a fetish for a guy's feet, but Brian's were like they had been made by a sculptor.  As his eyes traveled back upward, he couldn't help thinking, _fuck.  He was huge_.  And soon... _Shit._ He couldn't think straight at the moment. All he knew was that he had to know what it felt like to be owned by this man.  "Come here," he pleaded urgently, his eyes meeting his companion's as Brian smiled.

 

"Gladly," he told him, crawling onto the bed and pushing Justin onto his back, draping his long frame over the smaller one as their legs tangled together.  At last, they had no barriers between them:  not location, not time, not anything.  _It felt incredible_ , Brian decided, as he felt Justin trembling beneath him.  "Feel good?" he asked him, as he stared into the deep, blue eyes.  He moved slightly, the friction generated by their cocks causing both men to gasp at the sensation.

 

Justin nodded.  "Yeahhhh...." He hissed out in pleasure.  Brian crawled a little further up his body like a sexy frogman, and Justin moaned loudly. 

 

Brian smiled.  "You're so sensitive," he observed, noticing the look of bliss on Justin's face, and the glazed-over, dilated eyes.  "This is going to be interesting," he commented as he swooped in for a kiss, taking several seconds to thoroughly swab the interior of Justin's mouth before he let go.  "I think we need to get rid of some of that tension you're feeling first, though." 

 

"Hmm?" was the somewhat dazed reply as Brian slid back down Justin's body.  "What...?  Oh, fuck!" Justin cried out as Brian's lips latched themselves onto his dick and began to lightly suck on the tip as his hands roamed all over his chest and lower body.  The feeling of Brian's hot, wet mouth surrounding his cock was almost too much to bear as Justin tightly clenched the sheets with his hands, not knowing where to put them. He knew being with Brian intimately would be a mind-blowing experience, but he had been extremely naïve about just how much it would affect him. "Uhhhh....Oh, shit," he moaned, lifting his head to peer down at Brian while he tried to arch his body off the bed. That only helped Brian to take him in even deeper, his large hands grasping Justin at the waist as his tongue swirled around the silky flesh, driving Justin crazy with pleasure.  This was _nothing_ like their late-night escapades over the phone.  Nothing like it at all.  Perhaps a thousand times better, in fact.  And he was about to thoroughly embarrass himself by his lack of self-control. "Brian...I can't...I..."

 

Brian stopped long enough to speak, his lust-filled eyes peering up at him.  "Then let it go, Justin," he commanded huskily, as he stared at him for several moments before resuming his sucking, but this time with more force than before. It didn't take long, then, for Justin to cry out and erupt copiously into Brian's mouth, his body shaking from his orgasm; a climax he didn't even know he was capable of.  He lay there, totally limp as a dishrag afterward, his chest heaving up and down like he had just run a 30-mile marathon. 

 

Brian's own neglected cock was throbbing, and he desperately needed release, but he would have to draw on a tremendous amount of patience first.  "Feeling good?" he asked in amusement, as he noticed a goofy sort of look on Justin's face. 

 

Justin nodded.  "Uh, huh," he managed to utter somehow.  He took a deep breath and let it out. "Oh, my God. That was _intense_!" 

 

Brian smirked.  "Well, that was just the beginning." 

 

Justin's eyes grew wide.  "You mean you want me to return the favor?"  He could barely imagine what that would feel like, much less say it aloud. But his mouth was watering merely at the thought. 

 

Brian lifted his upper body, bracing it on his elbows as he peered at the sweat-kissed body beneath him, marveling at how Justin practically shone underneath the city lights, and his eyes sparkled in the dimness.  The man was exquisite from head to toe, and he was going to enjoy exploring every inch, starting with what he knew was a delectable ass; he had seen enough of its outline to know it was definitely worth getting much more familiar with.  He lightly ran his hand along Justin's arm, shaking his head as he considered Justin's offer.  "Later," he assured him, noticing the slight pout that appeared; that simply made him want to wipe that pout off his face with another kiss, but for now he had something else in mind.  "Turn over," he instructed softly, trying hard to control the tremor he could hear in his voice.  What was it about this young man that captivated him so to the point where he had to discover everything possible about him, even though they had just met?   He saw Justin frowning in reaction, his expression a combination of confusion and inquisitiveness, as Brian nodded at him reassuringly.  "It's okay," he murmured as Justin peered into his eyes for a moment or two before doing as Brian asked.

 

Justin rested his cheek on his folded arms to peer up at him, and Brian's breath caught in his throat as he finally had a chance to fully appreciate the young man spread out before him.  _Fuck_.  He had to have the most amazing, curved ass he had ever seen, just waiting for him to reach out and grasp the fleshy, perfectly curved globes.  He couldn't wait to experience what it would feel like to immerse his cock inside that virgin-tight ass.  But he even surprised himself with the enormous amount of restraint he showed by reaching down to lightly trail his finger down the curve of Justin's spine, lingering just above the tantalizing buttocks.  "Justin?" 

 

"Hmm?" Justin asked, extremely curious.  He could tell Brian was highly aroused, and yet he wasn't trying to fuck him.  He felt so exposed - not just physically, but also emotionally.  Plus, he had been hoping that he could look into Brian's face when he fucked him.  It appeared that was not going to happen, though; at least this time.  Hopefully, there would be other chances for that, however.   

 

"You want to know it all?  You want to experience it all?"  Brian asked him quietly.

 

Justin swallowed a little nervously, but he trusted Brian, even though technically they had only met. But even before he had seen him face-to-face tonight, he knew he would feel that way.  He could tell somehow that Brian wouldn't let him down or just use him and then discard him.  He wanted Brian to be the one; to be his first.  He nodded back at him.  "Yes," he whispered, his heart hammering in his chest.  "Teach me, Brian.  Teach me all of it."  He had no idea what Brian was up to...but he couldn't wait to find out.

 

_Well, since you asked so nicely, Warhol_ , Brian thought, pleased.  He draped his body partly over Justin's,  and used the tip of his flattened tongue to slowly lick a path down Justin's spine, applying just enough pressure to tease and tickle his lover.  He could hear Justin's breath quickening as he approached the curve of that delicious ass, pausing to raise his head to murmur, "Here's your first lesson."  The more he looked at the treasure in front of him - and smelled the tantalizing scent of Justin's skin - the more he knew he had to be deeply imbedded in it as soon as possible.  But before he did, he had to have a taste...and show his lover one of the biggest pleasures a gay male could experience.  "You're about to find out what rimming is." 

 

Finally grasping the soft flesh of Justin's ass, he parted the cheeks and inhaled the musky, enticing scent.  He could hear Justin gasp in stunned shock as he licked around his hole and then blew on the wrinkled flesh.  "Brian!" he heard him cry out, panting with his mouth open.  "That's just the start," he told him with a smirk.  "You sure you're ready for the rest, Warhol?"

 

The familiar nickname used again - the one where all this had originated - seemed to put Justin at ease a bit more as he nodded, his pulse as rapid as an Indy 500 racing car's engine.  This ‘activity' had been totally unexpected; he hadn't anticipated Brian doing _this_ , but it was making him wild with desire, and causing his cock to quickly start hardening again. And this was just with his tongue.  "Yeah," he whispered hoarsely...just before Brian grinned slyly and then got back to the business at hand.  He heard Justin moan in surprised disbelief as he pushed his tongue inside, peppering the area with small nips and licks in between as he tongue-fucked him. 

 

"Oh, shit," Justin exclaimed as Brian chuckled over his reaction.  Each new sexual foray for him was like plunging off a steep cliff into the sea below; like skydiving out of a plane and not knowing if his parachute would work or not. But it was all heart-pounding like the most extreme adrenalin rush he could possibly imagine.  He realized he hadn't imagined all that Brian was going to teach him tonight.  And just as he became somewhat used to what Brian was doing presently - and thoroughly enjoying it - his eyes shot wide open, and his toes curled in exquisite agony when he felt Brian's tongue connect with a certain spot, and he could feel his body coiling like a snake, knowing he was about to come...again.  "Oh, God!  Brian, I'm...I'm..."  He simply couldn't take anymore. 

 

But he also groaned a few seconds later when he felt Brian withdraw, and felt cool air on his puckered hole, along with a distinct emptiness where Brian's tongue had just been.  He struggled to come to terms with what he had just felt - he decided he really had no words for it - when he felt Brian grasp his arm to encourage him to roll back over, making him blush as his overt display of desire for him - his cock still loaded and ready for action once more - was made more than apparent.  He longed to have Brian touch it, stroke it...do _anything_ to it; he wanted him to master and control every part of him, even as he struggled to regain his breath.  "Why...why'd you stop?" he whispered in disappointment.

 

Brian chuckled.  "Well, we can't have you shooting your load again just with my tongue; I've got more in mind than that," he explained, his voice practically dripping with sex.   "Now you're about to learn your next lesson. The most important one." 

 

Justin turned even redder at the thought, figuring what was about to happen.  He couldn't believe that Brian had been on the verge of making him climax again, merely with his tongue. But when he had hit that one, particular spot, he had to admit that was precisely what would have happened if he hadn't stopped when he did. 

 

"You _are_ very sensitive, aren't you?" he asked Justin in amazement, who covered his face with his hands.  Brian grabbed his wrists then and pulled them away from his face as he shook his head.  "No, don't," he told him.  "I want to see your face...and especially those eyes...when you come this time," he told him.  Justin swallowed hard at the thought.  His eyes glanced down to Brian's impressive-looking cock as he realized soon that it would be embedded deeply inside him.  His anxious expression must have been very revealing as Brian gazed down at him, one eyebrow raised expectantly.  "Brian...will it...?"  _Oh, God, he couldn't imagine it. But he wanted it so badly, no matter how much it might hurt at first._ Emmett had warned him. But his friend had also told him that the pain would be more than worth it.  And he trusted that Brian would do everything he could to make sure it was as comfortable as possible for him.  He just knew that instinctively.  

 

Brian bestowed a look on Justin that he couldn't quite decipher, but it made his entire body temperature rise.  "Yeah," he told him frankly.  "It might hurt like a motherfucker, especially with it being your first time.  But once you press through it...there will be more pleasure than you can possibly imagine.   For both of us," he added, his voice raspy with desire. 

 

Justin nodded then, watching as Brian rose up to sit on his haunches and reached over to grab a small tube of lube and a condom.  He watched, his heart pounding, as Brian tore the condom packet with his teeth, and deftly slid it over his bulging dick, which looked even longer and wider than it had before.  Taking the tube of lube, he flipped the lid up.  "Ready?" he asked softly.  Justin nodded again, biting his lower lip a little anxiously.  "Yeah...I've _been_ ready," he told him, still a little embarrassed that he was so inexperienced. 

 

Brian chuckled at his assertion, surprising him by instructing him, "Turn onto your side."   As much as he wanted to see Justin's face when he came, he had decided this would be better for now.

 

"My side?" Justin frowned.  That wasn't what he was expecting.

 

"Yeah.... trust me, okay?  I want to make this good for you, and this is the best way for the first time."  He reached down to stroke Justin's face reassuringly.  Justin lay there for a few moments before he did as Brian asked, his face burning as he felt Brian's nude body spoon up behind his back, and making him jump when Brian lightly caressed his bare shoulder with his fingers, making him shiver with anticipation. 

 

"You are so damn amazing," Brian murmured as he continued to skim his fingers along the pale, smooth skin.  "Now be prepared," Brian whispered in his ear.  "You're already loosened up, but this is still going to be kind of a shock." 

 

Justin let out a dry laugh in spite of his nervousness.  "That's an understatement."  Just the thought of Brian's large cock thrusting into his ass seemed like an impossible feat, but one he was definitely willing to attempt.  In fact, he couldn't think of anything else; not since he had first seen Brian standing there earlier in all his bronzed glory.   Brian dressed impeccably; that much he could tell from the second he had first glimpsed him at the restaurant.  But undressed, there was no comparison - Brian was magnificent.    

 

"Not that," Brian told him with a smirk.  "That's coming," he replied tongue-in-cheek.  "No, I mean this."  Justin heard the clicking of a top opening before he felt Brian's slick fingers probing in and around his hole, making him gasp.

 

 "You weren't kidding!  That's fucking cold!" Justin complained. 

 

Brian grinned, leaning over to kiss Justin on the jaw.  "I know," he agreed.  "But it's necessary to minimize the discomfort."  He could feel Justin shaking under his touch as he spent more time than usual preparing him for what was to come, feeling him shifting slightly as he slathered the cool gel around and inside his hole to make penetration easier.  It had been a long time since Brian had taken a virgin - preferring more experienced men - but he knew it was going to hurt quite a bit at first, and the thought of causing Justin any more pain than necessary made him careful.  He hadn't lied to him about the initial burn and the discomfort. But he also was determined to make this a night both he - and Justin - wouldn't forget.  "It'll be okay," he reassured him as Justin nodded.  Spreading some over his condom-covered cock, he reached over to snatch of couple tissues out of a nearby box to wipe the excess off his fingers before using his hands to spread Justin's cheeks.  "Ready?" he whispered.  He could see Justin's Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed hard.

 

"Yeah.  Ready as I'll ever be."  Justin saw no point in lying.  He knew it was going to hurt, but he wanted Brian so much he didn't care. 

 

"Relax," Brian tried to encourage him, as he pushed just the tip of his dick inside, making Justin hiss at the initial intrusion.

 

"I know, I know," Brian told him softly as he reached his hand around to stroke Justin's belly, stopping his forward movement for the time being.  "Take some slow, deep breaths, okay?"  Justin bit his lip and nodded, a little more at ease by Brian's slow, rhythmic caresses, and the soothing tone of his voice.  He tried to do as Brian urged him, but as Brian pushed in a little more, he couldn't help but gasp at the pressure, the fullness...and the pain. Sharp pain over being stretched to what felt like an impossible limit.  Now he understood why Brian had taken so much time in preparing him with his tongue and with the lubricant, because Brian's dick was huge.  Could he really take all of it inside him? The thought was at once terrifying but also exciting.  He didn't think it was feasible, but he knew it had to be.  After all, gay males did this all the time, right?  And Brian had to be one of the most experienced of them all.  He didn't know that for a fact, but any man who looked like he did had to have had more than his share of offers from willing partners.  

 

"Brian...I...I don't know if I can do this," he told him honestly, longing to have Brian fully inside him, but also dying from the pain, and just the hugeness surrounding his muscle walls.  Justin's breathing was heavy and labored, perhaps more out of anxiety than the actual, physical discomfort.  For once, he briefly thought that he might know what it felt like to give labor if he had been a woman. "No!" he whimpered, however, as he felt Brian beginning to withdraw, his hand stilling on his belly.  "Don't!" 

 

"But..."

 

"No, I want this, Brian.  I do.  Stay.  I just need you to be patient with me."  He turned his head to see Brian peering at him, his face full of concern.  He leaned up, his need crystal clear, as Brian met him halfway to kiss his lips briefly but soundly before he pulled back so he could peer into the dilated, dark-blue eyes. 

 

"You're sure about this?" 

 

Justin nodded.  "Yeah.  It's going to happen one way or the other.  I want it to be tonight.  With _you._ Please." 

 

Brian gazed into his pleading eyes before he nodded back at him.  "Okay.  So remember what I said.  Nice and slow.  Breathe deeply in and out, and try as much as you can to relax."  He chuckled as he heard Justin's huff of disbelief.  He supposed he could certainly understand that.  If someone had a dick his size up HIS ass, and it was the first time, he could imagine reacting much the same way.  He slowly stroked Justin's stomach again in an up and down motion with the side of his hand, before he slowly pressed inside a little more, hearing his lover's sharp hiss of breath. 

 

He was at last past the first ring of muscle now as he heard Justin say, "Don't stop.  I'm okay," he panted.  "Keep going."  Brian held his breath as he pushed in a little more, stopping like he did the first time, until Justin adjusted to his girth and nodded at him.  The steps were repeated a couple more times, until - at last - Brian was finally flush against Justin's body, buried balls deep inside his ass, his hand now on Justin's thigh.  Justin reached to twine their fingers together as he struggled to breathe through the pain.  "Was...was that the worst of it?" he asked, his voice raspy from the exertion as he turned his head to peer up at his companion.

 

Brian nodded, leaning down to kiss him on the lips for a few seconds before brushing his face against his cheek as he whispered, "Yeah.  Now it's time for the _best_ of it," he assured him huskily as he pulled back slightly, and then pushed back in.  He repeated the procedure a few more times, until he pushed almost all the way out, and then thrust smoothly and easily deep inside; he knew he had hit Justin's sweet spot then when his lover cried out in surprise and gasped at the ecstasy that coursed through his body. 

 

"Oh, fuck!" he cried out in disbelief as his fingers tightened around Brian's.  "That's....that's..."  He couldn't express what he was feeling.  Somehow the intense pain had given away to something indescribably exhilarating.  It made his entire body thrum with pleasure as Brian chuckled softly. 

 

"Told you, Warhol...now comes the good part," he told him as he pulled him closer to his body and began to slowly rock in and out of him, Justin instinctively pressing his hips back against Brian's body to allow deeper penetration, and to help his lover angle his dick so he could hit that spot again and again that drove him wild before.  The sensation of Brian's body curved against his, his cock deeply imbedded in him, the caresses he was giving him as his hot hands roamed all over his skin, was more than he could have ever imagined in his most vivid fantasy.  Brian had been right.  The pain had been more than worth it.  He would go through hell to get to this heaven any day.

 

"Oh, my God," Justin breathed out in awe as Brian's slick cock now slid in and out of him effortlessly, taking it slow and steady as he accentuated their lovemaking with occasional kisses in between thrusts. To his surprise, as much as he thought he would want to ram his cock into Justin's ass and totally possess him, body and soul, he was deriving as much pleasure out of the slower pace as Justin was; at least, if the sighs, moans, and whimpers he heard were any indication.  The boy was incredibly responsive to his every move and touch, as if all his body was on fire. Fire for HIM.  And while he rarely, if ever, used this sexual position to fuck someone, he was surprised to realize that he was enjoying it as well. 

 

"Justin," he called out his lover's name as he felt his desire climbing; he began to speed up his pace, amazed that Justin seemed to instinctively know how to meet him, stroke for stroke, to maximize their desire.  He knew he wasn't going to last long this first time; it was all too intense for both of them.  He reached their hands down to stroke his lover's cock together in time with their rocking motion.  "Justin, I can feel it.  It's time.  Do it; come for me," he told him, feeling the younger man's body building toward its climax.  

 

Moments later, Justin's ass muscles clenched around Brian's cock as he erupted, his come spurting all over his chest and the sheets as he cried out in release, causing Brian to do the same as they both reached their orgasm almost simultaneously.  Afterward, Justin leaned back to collapse against his lover's body, Brian's arms sliding around to wrap him in his embrace and simply hold him, their bodies slick with sweat, and both hearts racing as the two struggled to regain a normal heartbeat from the intense high they had just experienced.

 

Justin's ass was sore, as well as some other muscles he had never used before...but he definitely intended on using them again.  As he savored the feel of Brian holding him in his arms, his back flush with his chest and their legs tangled together, he tried to assimilate what had just happened.  He knew it was going to be an experience he would never forget.  But this...he didn't know what the first time was like for most gay males, but he knew he couldn't have asked for a more patient or masterful lover than Brian.  He inhaled a deep breath through his nose and expelled it, his pulse still thumping erratically.  "Whew," he whispered, not sure if Brian had heard him.  But he knew he had when he heard the corresponding, soft chuckle that sounded behind him. 

 

Brian kissed his shoulder, his lips skimming over the warm flesh as they traveled up Justin's neck.  Justin turned his head enough to peer up at him and flushed awkwardly as Brian grinned at him.  "Enjoy that?" he asked.

 

"Mm, hmm," was all Justin could manage to say in return as Brian loosened his hold on him, pressing on his shoulder to encourage him to lie on his back while he pulled out of him as gently as he could and tied off the condom to throw it into the wastebasket by the bed. Flopping back down onto the bed beside his lover, he turned his head to smile over at him, receiving one in return. 

 

"You okay?" he asked, noticing that same sort of dazed expression on the younger man's face he had had before.  He turned onto his side and propped his head up on his elbow to better study him, once more blessing whomever had stolen Justin's sketchbook that day in the subway station, or he would have never met this person. This amazing, captivating, person - inside AND out, just like the cover of a book that was impressive at first glance, but then held your attention even more once you began reading it. Because in a way, that was how he envisioned Justin, except he had discovered how amazing he was on the _inside_ before he found out his inner beauty was matched by his outer appearance.  For once in his life, he realized with startling clarity that he had judged someone on what they were like on the inside before he had even seen the person's physical characteristics.  "Justin?"

 

"Hmm?"  Justin raised his eyebrows in question.

 

"That was a test, wasn't it?" Brian reached over to briefly rub his fingers across Justin's lower lip before he stroked the other man's cheek, admiring the long lashes and blue eyes peering back at him in perplexity. 

 

"A test?"  Justin repeated.  "Well, I told you I wanted you to teach me.  And I couldn't have asked for a better teacher," he assured him, feeling a little shy.  "So...did I pass?"  He grinned.  "If not, you know what they say:  practice makes perfect."  He frowned, though, when Brian remained quiet.  "I did do okay, didn't I?  I mean, you weren't disappointed?"  He had been so focused on his own needs and pleasure that he hadn't even thought about Brian's.  

 

Brian shook his head and smiled.  "Hell, no, you did _more_ than okay," he assured him.  "Incredible, in fact," he added, making Justin blush.  "No...I don't mean...this," he began to explain, gesturing with his hand at the bed in general.  "I mean, when Vic approached me, and made me think that it was you. That was a test, wasn't it?  To gauge my character, and how sincere I was...or how shallow I might have been."  It wasn't stated as a question; more like a declaration of fact.

 

Justin temporarily averted his eyes before nodding, peering back over at him.  "Yes," he admitted softly.  "That's exactly what it was." 

 

"Why?  Because you didn't want to have dinner with some ass-ugly geek, and then feel obligated to put out afterward?  Well, I apparently passed inspection." 

 

Justin winced; that made him sound very vain.  "No!  It wasn't like that; not at all!"  Brian arched an eyebrow at him expectantly.  "Yes, I admit.  I did want to figure out how sincere you were about your wanting to get to know me better, and that you weren't just asking to meet up with me so you could fuck some virgin." 

 

Brian sighed in exasperation.  "For your information, Warhol, I could do that quite easily back in Pittsburgh; hell, I could do that several times a night if I wanted to.  You didn't believe me when I told you I wasn't a troll before?" 

 

"I believed you," Justin assured him.  "But surely you're heard of Beauty and the Beast?" 

 

Brian huffed.  "And I imagine I know which one you're comparing me with...right, _Beauty?_ "

 

Justin laughed despite the seriousness of their discussion.  "No, that's not it!  You're missing the point!" 

 

"No, what I'm missing is my cock in your ass," Brian replied, tongue in cheek as he grinned back at the scowl on Justin's face, unable to keep from chuckling at his expression.  His face turned serious as he told Justin, "No, I get it."  He shook his head as he gently tucked some hair behind his lover's ear. "I never really had given it much thought, to tell you the truth.  About seeing what a person was like on the inside, and not only the outside.   I mean, like you told me on the phone before, I think there has to be some physical attraction there - and we have that in spades," he assured him as Justin smiled in agreement, thinking what an understatement that was.  "But at the same time, I like to think that if the roles had been reversed - and I really had been like your watchdog...Vic?" he asked as Justin nodded in confirmation.  "If he had been hot, and I had been some troll, that he wouldn't have turned away from me in disgust, and not wanted anything to do with me."  He paused for a brief moment.  "You know, I almost did that tonight."  He recalled his first reaction to the older, interesting, man.  He hadn't really felt any pull toward him at all.  "I turned to walk away from him at first, just like you feared I would." 

 

"You did?" Justin asked in astonishment.  He hadn't been able to see what had transpired before Brian had met him for dinner.  "But you came upstairs anyway."  Brian nodded.  "Why?  Why did you change your mind?" 

 

Brian's fingers trailed down Justin's chest, marveling at the soft, lightly muscled, skin under his fingertips.  Justin blushed at the look in Brian's eyes, his touch continuing to cause all sorts of tingling throughout his body.  He would have never thought someone could evoke the sort of reaction in him that Brian did.  But ‘attraction' didn't begin to describe how he made him feel.  "Yeah, I know.  I could have just pretended I had no idea who Vic was.  I thought he _was_ kind of interesting looking in a ‘wise-beyond-his-years' sort of way, I guess.  Like he has experienced a lot of ups and down in his life." 

 

"He has," Justin told him.  "Maybe one day I'll tell you more about him.  He's a dear friend, and a very smart man.  Very protective of me since my father passed away."  He snorted.  "You don't know the half of it, in fact," he told him.  He had noticed the security guards trailing discreetly from several yards behind them as he and Brian had walked to the hotel; he had no doubt that they were outside right now, waiting for him to come back down.  Well, they were going to have a LONG wait if he had anything to say about it. 

 

"Your father passed away?  He had to be pretty young, then."  That was one thing Justin had never mentioned to him. 

 

Justin's eyes blurred for a moment as he thought about that time; the pain was still a little too fresh, even now.  "Yes," he whispered.  "He was only 55.  Heart attack, probably due to stress, I imagine, knowing how high-strung he could be.  He wasn't the most demonstrative man when it came to giving affection.  But I still knew that he loved me just the same.  And he made sure I would be well taken care of if anything ever happened to him." He paused as he revealed, "I never knew my mom. She died in childbirth...giving birth to ME."  He had always felt a bit guilty about that, even though he knew he couldn't be his fault.

 

Brian played with some of Justin's damp hair as he gazed into his face.  "I'm sorry to hear that.  Is that why you set up that little ruse with Vic?  Because you were worried I was only interested in...what?  Some nest egg you have?  Property, maybe?  Or being treated only as a convenient, one-night stand?" 

 

"All of that, I guess," Justin told him honestly.  "Remember CTE?  Where you sent the sketchbook to?"  Brian nodded.  "It stands for _Craig Taylor Electronics_." 

 

Brian whistled.  "Holy shit.  THAT Craig Taylor Electronics?  The Fortune 500 company?"  Justin nodded.  "I should have figured that out.  I remember reading about his death in the _Business Courier_.  The article mentioned an only child - a son - who inherited his estate. But I had no idea it was YOU."

 

"I hope you understand why I did it, then, Brian.  I had to be sure.  There are so many ass kissers in the world that want to rob you blind and trick you; and even though you told me you were very comfortable financially yourself, I had to make sure you weren't just pretending to be someone you weren't.  But I'm so glad that you turned out to be exactly who I thought you would be...only better," he added as Brian smiled. 

 

"And I'm damn glad that I didn't walk away when I had the chance," Brian told him.  "Most of all, I thank that petty criminal who stole your book, but decided it was worthless."  He paused for a moment before he decided, "That's where he was wrong. That book was invaluable...to me.  Because it led me to YOU." 

 

Justin flushed at the compliment.  "I was nervous when you asked to meet me.  I wasn't sure what would happen, or what you would be like.  But I'm glad I was right about you."  He glanced down, feeling embarrassed.  "Brian?" 

 

"Hmm?" His lover continued to brush his fingertips all over Justin's body; anywhere he could reach.  He just felt this constant need to touch him, to know that he was truly here with him. 

 

"It that what this is going to be?  A one-night thing?  I know you have to return home tomorrow, right?  If it is...I want you to know that I wouldn't have traded this night for anything." 

 

Brian gazed at him, noticing the look of disappointment on Justin's face.  He suddenly realized that's not what he wanted.  He wanted...more.  He wanted walks with Justin, conversations with him.  Dinners with him.  And sex, of course. That, too.  But to his utter astonishment, he wanted more than just that.  "Well...yes, I have to return home tomorrow," he told him, watching Justin's face fall as he quickly added, "But, no...this was NOT a one-night stand.  At least, I hope not.  I come here a lot on business.  And even if I didn't need to, it's not that far away."

 

Justin beamed in relief.  "You really mean that?"

 

Brian nodded.  "I almost turned and walked away from your imposter.  But when I got to thinking about all those times we had talked, and I had told _you_ \- a complete stranger - things that I had never told anyone before, not Lindsay, not Michael; no one.  And when I thought about what sort of person you were.  What kind of character you had, and your passion and intelligence for the things you most cared about.  Your sense of humor, and your openness.  As I stood there, I decided that even if nothing further came from our relationship tonight, at least I would still have a friend I could continue to confide in.  That's worth all the gold in the world to me, because it took someone I didn't really know - and couldn't see - to realize what I should really value."  He peered into the expressive, blue eyes as he added, "But I won't lie, either.  When I found out what you _really_ looked like, that was definitely an added bonus.  Plus, I got a hell of a steak dinner out of the deal."  He chuckled at Justin smacked him on the chest before he, too, grinned back at him. 

 

"Well...about that one-night stand..." Justin began.

 

Brian's brows rose in curiosity as his lover pushed him down onto his back and moved to straddle him, his bent legs on either side of Brian's longer ones.  "We might only have one night for now, but that doesn't mean we can't take advantage of it, right?"  

 

Brian grinned.  "I like the way you think, Warhol."  He could already feel his cock stirring at the thought of Justin riding him, and their fucking in all sorts of configurations.  And he knew that Justin had no idea what kind of passion he was about to unfurl. But he was soon going to find out. It was going to be a long - and sleepless - night.

 

 


	8. Bittersweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that they have finally met, and Brian has passed his 'test,' the two men continue to get to know each other better. But their time together is both joyous and bittersweet.

  

_Next Morning - 9:00 a.m._

The sunlight peeking in through the open windows of the suite, along with the rumbling of a housekeeping cart being wheeled down the hallway, caused Brian to stir as he slowly awakened.  Due to several vigorous rounds of introducing Justin to the joys of gay sex last night, the two men hadn't fallen asleep until well after four. 

 

At first, he was somewhat disoriented, irritated with himself that he had let a trick stay overnight in his bed; but as he smelled the familiar scent of the man lying beside him, and felt the small puffs of breath escaping through a pair of enticing, pink lips, and the head resting on his shoulder, he realized this was no trick.  He smiled at the image of Justin lying there, his head turned to face him, a lock of what he knew now was soft, blond hair partially obscuring his eyes, which were still closed in slumber. Either he had worn his companion out, or Justin was a very heavy sleeper, because he hadn't moved a muscle since Brian had awakened.  Perhaps both, he decided, as he moved to slide the lightweight sheet up over their bodies to ward over a slight chill in the room.  At last, that evoked a slight movement from his lover, as Justin instinctively snuggled closer against his body.  Brian paused, but only for a moment, before he curled his arm around Justin's shoulder and pulled him closer against him, their legs tangling together.  He enjoyed just lying there holding the warm body in his arms, hearing Justin sleep and still in a little awe that they had finally met.  He thought about how lucky he was to have met this one particular, unique, man, and how, oddly enough, he had some low-level thief to thank for it. 

 

He sighed heavily, knowing their hours-long, extremely pleasurable dalliance couldn't last much longer, since he had a flight to catch around two.  He would have not hesitated to change it, despite the cost that might have ensued, had it not been for the fact that one of his biggest clients was flying in from out of state to conduct a meeting with him, and if things went as planned, he and his company could walk away from their deal a few million dollars richer.  He had always been a man of his word, so he had no choice but to back his words by showing up as had promised.  And knowing this client extremely well by now, despite having a more-than-adequate staff, he knew the man would not accept meeting with anyone else but the CEO himself. 

 

So with extreme reluctance - but also a little bit of indulgence - he began to lightly kiss the warm skin under his touch to slowly awaken his lover, beginning with Justin's upper shoulder, and then slowly traveling up to the hollow where his collarbone lay, feeling the slight stubble around his companion's jaw against his skin as he felt Justin beginning to stir.  He heard him sigh in pleasure as the pair of large, blue eyes struggled to open.  A smile appeared on Justin's face as he finally opened his eyes a crack to stare into Brian's face, which was inches from his, and sporting a smile of its own.

 

"Mmm....Good morning," Justin greeted him drowsily, as their lips met for a kiss.  Brian licked across his mouth before sliding his tongue inside to deepen the kiss, pushing Justin gently down onto his back as he draped himself over the smaller frame and continued his exploration of Justin's body.  He felt Justin's hands slide around to stroke his back in an up-and-down motion as their legs intertwined.  It only took a few moments for their passion to begin to flare up again, when - to Justin's extreme disappointment - Brian pulled back and broke off their kiss, chuckling at the pout on his face.  "I need to take a shower," he explained.  "And this suite has a very _generous_ shower," he added as Justin's face lit up in understanding.  Brian rose to his knees and grabbed Justin's hand to help him kneel to face him, kissing him briefly but soundly before they both slid off the bed and headed toward the shower, no need to worry about discarding any clothes this time.   "Care to discover the joys of conserving water?"

 

Justin laughed at Brian's unique invitation.  "Well, I'm a firm believer in _conservation_ ," he told him, licking his lips playfully. 

 

Brian couldn't help continuing to kiss Justin as he walked him backward toward the adjoining bathroom, stopping just long enough once they entered the spacious area to turn the showerhead on and wait for the water to warm up to an acceptable level, before he pulled a giggling Justin into the walk-in shower with him.  Somehow, since their first sexual encounter last night, his hesitant companion had turned into a very enthusiastic and voracious lover. For someone so totally inexperienced, Justin had proven to be a quick study.  He hadn't yet tackled the art of giving a blowjob, but Brian had no doubt with those lips of his that he would be a natural at it.  And his reactions - the sounds he made while they made love - were a distinct turn on; every caress, every touch, every stroke, every lick, suck, nip, or kiss, was met with some sort of appreciative sound or gasp of pleasure.  Brian had been right; Justin was extremely sensitive to his touch, and to his delight he had discovered the younger man had a lot of erogenous zones as well.   He had happily spent most of the night familiarizing himself with each and every, in fact.

 

As he took the bar of soap from the shower ledge and began to gently rub it all over Justin's wet body, he felt something awakening inside him that he didn't even know he was capable of; a feeling he couldn't quite yet identify.  All he knew for sure was that he had experienced an unforgettable evening and night with Justin.  And now he was feeling a great deal of regret that it would probably be the last time they would be together, at least for the foreseeable future.  If he had anything to say about it, though, there would be many more encounters. 

 

Justin's eyes sparkled at him as he felt Brian's gentle, roaming touch, beginning with his shoulders and arms and then sliding down his chest as they stared into each other's eyes, the world and its worries briefly forgotten.  Occasionally, Brian would stop to lean in and kiss him before continuing his soapy caresses - eventually both hands coming to rest against his back.  Justin's cock began to stir as Brian's left hand slid down the middle of his spine, and one finger slid its way in between the cleft of his butt cheeks.  He gasped as the finger became more probing, grabbing onto Brian's shoulders to steady himself as he swayed slightly in reaction.  He was definitely beginning to enjoy these various sexual adventures with this handsome man.  The way he made his body practically sing with the merest of touches was fascinating to him.  Brian arched a brow at him and peered intently into his eyes while the two of them stood under the rainforest shower spray, so much so that Justin blushed. "I got really dirty last night," he told Brian impishly with a grin, rocking back slightly to try and push Brian's finger even further into his body.

 

Brian smirked at the implied invitation.  "You certainly did.  And I must admit, you showed an amazing degree of stamina, too," he added with a certain amount of respect; Justin had been more than his match last night, once he had gotten the hang of things.  His reluctant lover had somehow transformed from a somewhat timid fraidy-cat to more of a tomcat as the night wore on, and from the look of things, he was ready for another round, which suited him just fine.  "And just what do you suggest we do about your hygiene problem, Warhol?" he pondered thoughtfully, earning a smirk from Justin. 

 

He watched as an emboldened Justin took the bar of soap out of his hand and slowly repeated his actions, running the slippery bar down his toned chest before traveling over to his right nipple to rub the soap in circles to make it hard, and then repeating the same thing with the left, his eyes so focused on his task that it allowed Brian to silently admire his lithe body.  He was normally one who preferred darker-haired, beefier males for his sexual trysts, but there was something about Justin - some luminance or aura, perhaps - that made him extremely attractive and devastatingly dangerous; an unavoidable combination that he knew he would never grow tired of.

 

He bit back a moan at the sensations this young man was stirring within him, closing his eyes in bliss and arching his head backward as he grasped Justin's waist with both hands, the warm water providing a steady, relaxing sound.  Justin slowly, lovingly ran the soap all over his body much like Brian had done to him, making his skin slippery and slick with lather.  His eyes still closed, he gasped and his eyes jerked open when he heard the soap being dropped to the tiled floor, and Justin's hands fondling his balls.  He seemingly, however, was purposely avoiding the area he most wanted to feel his hands on.  "Justin," he hissed in frustration, as the nimble fingers continued their sensual trek, one finger of his own now sliding between Brian's buttocks to press gently inside the tight hole, mimicking Brian's earlier action.  _Oh, shit.  Justin had learned well,_ Brian acknowledged as he couldn't prevent the moan from escaping his lips this time.  "Oh, fuck," he groaned in reaction to the feelings rushing through him.  

 

Justin's hand stilled on Brian's hips, hovering dangerously close to his cock, as he grinned back at him playfully.  "I need to make a thorough inspection to make sure you're entirely clean," he decided, before lowering himself to kneel in front of his lover, his mouth inches away from its target.  The blue eyes lifted to gaze up at Brian, seemingly asking for permission, "Justin..." he whispered as the warm water continued to rain down upon their bodies.   Just the thought of those ample lips surrounding him and sucking him off made him even more aroused.  Justin didn't wait for an answer - at least a verbal one, anyway -  before with inexplicable confidence his lips latched onto Brian's cock and began to suckle the tip.  "Fuck," Brian hissed at the first physical contact with Justin's mouth.  One hand reached down to grab onto the top of his lover's head, as the other one braced itself against the side of the tiled shower wall.  He gazed down at the blond crown of hair, finding Justin's tentative taste of him highly erotic.  It was like he was treating him as a treasure to be savored as he used his tongue to slowly slide along the bottom vein of his dick, a gasp escaping from Brian's mouth in response.  _How in the fuck did he know how to do that?_   _Fast learner, indeed..._

The water relentlessly showered down upon them as Justin's mouth taking Brian's cock in deeper, Brian striving to not fuck his mouth, although it required tremendous restraint not to do so.  The things that Justin was doing with his lips and tongue was driving him crazy with need, and his breathing began to speed up; the incredible feelings Justin was engendering were almost excruciating unbearable; this young man - still almost a boy - somehow knew how to expertly wield his skills to provide the utmost pleasure for him. He grasped Justin's hair tighter, not knowing if he was causing pain or not, but unable to keep from holding onto tight for fear he would fall to his knees, when suddenly Justin began to suckle him in earnest, and took him in even deeper.  "Oh....shit..."  Brian's entire body tensed as his hips pushed forward and he shot his load deep into Justin's throat, crying out in bliss as his orgasm erupted with explosive intensity.

 

Breathing heavily, he had to pause for several seconds before he managed to grab Justin under the arms and command quietly, "Get up here."  Justin slowly rose to his feet, licking his lips and smiling at him as Brian grinned back in amusement.  "What am I going to do with you?" he murmured, lamenting the fact that soon - much too soon - they would have to say goodbye when he was just starting to get to know this intriguing, young man. 

 

"Well...You're going to fuck me...and then we're going to order room service for some breakfast," Justin announced as he pushed some wet hair back from Brian's face, curling his right hand behind his neck, and bringing Brian's attention back to the present.  "And then you're going to grab me by the hand, pull me up from the couch, and then throw me back down onto the bed, where we can stay all day, and you can pose for me in between rounds of hot sex so I can do some sketches."

 

Brian laughed.  "Oh, so now I'm a character study, am I?"  Justin grinned with a nod.  "Well, you don't have your sketchbook, remember?"  He reminded him. If he ever could find out who that thief had been who had stolen it, though, he would thank him immensely for providing him with such an incomparable gift.

 

Justin bit his lower lip in thought.  He shrugged, determined. "Then I'll take some more photos of you...or use the hotel stationery.  I'll _find_ a way."  He openly admired the man standing in front of him, presently glistening with water from head to foot.  God, he was magnificent.  He made him want to draw him right then and there.  But the now tepid water made him shiver suddenly; an action Brian immediately noticed as he turned off the water and opened the door and grabbed a couple big, fluffy, bath-size towels to drape one around Justin's shoulders.  Justin peered up at him with such an open, trusting expression on his face that the thought of their parting made his heart ache.  Wrapping the other towel around his waist, he couldn't help pulling the younger man into his embrace as Justin's towel dropped to the marble floor, wrapping his arms around the slender body as they just stood there next to the shower, holding each other.

 

Brian had no idea what was happening to him.  But even someone as vain as he had always considered himself to be knew there was something dramatic occurring here; something that he sensed would be life changing.  But at the same time, he had his home back in Pittsburgh, and Justin had his here. They both had either a career or a goal that did not necessarily include the other.  How would they ever reconcile the two?   After several seconds, he sighed as he pulled back to gaze deeply into the expressive, blue eyes.  He couldn't help smiling at him, but it was a sad smile, one that was immediately recognized.

 

"Brian?  What's wrong?" Justin whispered, his hands securely linked behind Brian's neck as he peered up at him.  For the past several hours, they had practically been attached at the hip, so it felt kind of odd whenever he wasn't touching Brian in some way.  He loved touching him, holding him, kissing him, feeling him inside him, and being wrapped in his arms.  It was heavenly.  Suddenly, abruptly, however, he understood the cause for the somber expression on Brian's face, and the joy he felt quickly turned into sadness.  "We can't do that, can we?" he asked quietly.  "Because...you have to go home."  He swallowed the painful, stabbing feeling in his throat as he contemplated that moment.  The moment he was already dreading.  "What time?" he whispered, knowing by the morose look on his lover's face that he was right. 

 

Brian held Justin's face in his hands as he told him, "My flight leaves at two.  So I'll probably need to head to the airport around noon."  He grimaced.  "You know how security can be a bitch sometimes to get through." 

 

Justin's face fell as he glanced at the hotel room alarm clock.  "But it's 10:00 already.  Brian..."  He didn't really know what to say.  All this time, he knew eventually their magical time together would have to end; he had just pushed it to the furthest, most obscure corner of his mind, however, because he hadn't wanted to think about it, but now it was _all_ he could think about. 

 

"I know," Brian whispered, feeling the same type of despair that Justin felt.  He tried to smile at Justin in reassurance as he stroked his cheek lazily with his fingers, but he was having a hard time feeling cheerful at the moment.  "But we'll make the most of the time we have left.  And it's a short flight from here to Pittsburgh.  So there's no reason why we can't see each other from time to time."    

 

_Time to time._ That sounded so infrequent...and not nearly often enough to Justin. "But it still wouldn't be the same."  He knew he was being both selfish and perhaps immature at the moment, but he didn't care.  "Brian...I..."

 

"Hmm?" 

 

Justin bit his lower lip, not sure of what to say.  He knew somehow, someway, he was falling in love with this virtual stranger.  But if he confessed that, would Brian mock him?  Disbelieve him?  Find it incredulous that someone could truly fall in love with a man he had only met for the first time last night?  But in a way, he knew Brian much better than he did some others that he had known for a long time.  Somehow, the anonymous safety of their emails, and the reliance on only their voices in the middle of the night, had served to deepen their relationship.  And during that time - and from the second he had laid eyes on him last night - somehow he knew. He knew he was falling in love.  Perhaps he had _already_ fallen in love with Brian even before he had seen him.  Yes, he was young.  Brian was older, set in his career, and more confident and experienced.  That still didn't mean that he couldn't recognize his feelings for what they really were. But would Brian scoff at him if he professed his deepest thoughts?   "I...I don't want to say goodbye," he whispered, his eyes bright with unwashed tears.

 

Brian leaned in to kiss the soft, warm lips, resting both of his hands on either side of Justin's neck.  "Justin, you're just setting out on Life.  You...you have a talent that I could never hope to have.  There are some great things out in that big, bad world, just waiting for you to discover.  Last night was just the start of the next step in your journey." 

 

Justin pressed his fingers against Brian's mouth then to stop him.  "Don't you go all Dali Lama on me with the philosophical bullshit, Brian," he growled.  "I'm not just talking about the sex, and you know it!  What we have wasn't just created last night, and it wasn't just some casual hookup.  I know it, and you know it. Are you going to deny it?" he dared him, feeling less secure than he sounded. 

 

Brian gazed into Justin's eyes, so full of conviction and fire at the moment, and wondered just what the fuck to say.  He silently knew Justin was right. There _was_ something unique going on here, despite their having only met less than 24 hours ago.  But was he ready to admit that yet? And was it even fair to do so, knowing the odds of maintaining a successful, long-distance relationship were very small?  He had a son back home that he adored, and religiously saw on a regular basis.  He looked forward to whatever they did together, and loved the time they spent alone, no matter what they did.  How could he possibly choose between the two? Well, he knew the answer to that.  His son had to come first, no matter _how_ attracted he was to Justin, or how much he was beginning to care for him.  

 

"Brian?  I want an answer. Can you deny it?" Justin repeated, challenging him as he stared unflinchingly into his eyes.

 

Brian stroked Justin's jaw with his thumbs before he brought their foreheads together, suddenly finding himself unable to look him in the eyes anymore.  Closing his own, he drew in a shaky breath and let it out.  "No," he whispered hoarsely.  "I can't."  He opened his eyes to pull back and once more peer into Justin's eyes.  "I...I do care about you," he admitted, not without just a bit of difficulty.  It would have still been hard - although just a bit easier - if Justin had asked him that same question over the phone, rather than face-to-face.  But it would have been uncomfortable baring his soul this way nonetheless. But something - something he couldn't quite define - made him face the truth, and speak the words regardless.  His heart fluttered briefly at the watery smile he received in reaction to his admission, and the hopeful look on Justin's face that he knew he was about to dash.  "But we still have to face reality, Justin.  You and I live in different worlds, different places.  We're at different stages in our lives." 

 

Justin roughly pulled himself away from Brian's embrace, his eyes flashing.  "Different, different, different!  I fucking HATE that word!  Why is ‘different' so terrible a thing?  There's nothing wrong with being _different!"_

Brian sighed.  "You know what I mean, Justin.  It's not the word; it's the _reality_ behind the word.  The practicality behind it.  You could no more up and move away from your life here than I could mine.  My career...my son."  He choked a bit on the last word as he thought about Gus.  He had often thought of what it might be like to have his business here in New York City, the epitome of advertising, and the hub of all activity in his world. The prestige - not to mention the limitless opportunities - that could arise out of placing Kinnetik here in the Big Apple had always fascinated him, and was a dream of his one day. But realistically, he also knew it would cost an ungodly amount of money just to find and rent a place here, and while he had no doubt of his ingenuity, talent, creativity, and advertising acumen, he also knew that in this city he would be one of literally hundreds of other, more well-established agencies.  But far and above, the most pressing consideration was his son.  For someone who had never thought he would have anything to do with a child apart from fulfilling one of his dearest friend's most fervent wish to be a mother, he now couldn't imagine not seeing or touching his child.  His Sonny Boy.  As he looked over at the man facing him from a few feet away, however, to his astonishment he realized he was beginning to feel the same way about being separated from _him_.  His heart felt like it was being torn in half.  Why couldn't he be like one of his friend Michael's superheroes, and find a way to be in both places at once? 

 

Justin blinked, unable to keep a couple of errant tears from escaping that he furiously wiped away, ashamed over his body's immature reaction to Brian's words. Words that he knew were both spoken from the heart as well as the mind.  Rationally, he knew Brian was correct.  From an emotional standpoint, however, his heart felt like it was breaking.  He had never considered this before when Brian had first broached the idea of them meeting in person.  Of course, until last night, until this moment perhaps, he had never considered the thought that he would fall so hard for him; for _anyone_.  But now the thought and reality that he had was mocking him in its irony.  He swallowed back the emotion as he nodded in sorrow at the wisdom - and truth - in Brian's words.  "I know."  He pursed his lips tightly together in an attempt to stop the additional tears that were tempting to escape. He was NOT going to act like some big baby here; that would merely highlight Brian's previous assertion about the difference in their ages and in their stages in life. 

 

He rushed over to Brian when he opened his arms up in silent invitation.  Lips coming together as they reveled in each other's touch, they greedily kissed, both men realizing they didn't know when they would be back in each other's arms again.  The coldness of the tiled floor in the bathroom didn't even register to either man as they stood there, holding each other in the garishness and reality of the sunlight streaming in through the bathroom window.  Finally pulling back, Justin sighed, gazing back at him sorrowfully, before Brian pulled the towel away from his body and abruptly lifted him up into his arms, Justin's legs and arms quickly wrapping themselves around the taller, lean frame as Brian carried him back to the bed, neither man unable to say goodbye just yet.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Same Day - 2:20 p.m._

Brian leaned back in his first-class seat, his hand wrapped around the shot of bourbon he had requested, but he wasn't drinking it.  His thoughts were too preoccupied with a certain, beautiful, blond young man who he could swear he could still smell, touch, and feel from their time together.  But he knew it was all wishful thinking.  He _also_ knew he should be concentrating on his upcoming presentation later that day with the client who had necessitated making him leave in the first place.  However, he was finding that next to impossible.  Sighing, he attracted the attention of the female flight attendant nearby.

 

"Sir?  May I help you with something?" she asked as she turned to stand next to his aisle seat, her eyes flickering appreciatively over the handsome man. It was something that Brian had long ago become accustomed to, so he did not react except to nod.

 

"Yes. Would you please retrieve my briefcase from the overhead for me?" 

 

"Of course."  Nodding at her as he affirmed her guess that it was directly above him, she reached up and grabbed the handle of the expensive, leather case and handed it to him as Brian thanked her.  Pulling out the seat tray to rest his briefcase on top, he flipped the latches to raise the lid, immediately spying the envelope with the St. Regis Hotel's emblem in the upper left-hand corner and his first name scrawled in the center.  He knew it could only have been written by one person, and his heart rate sped up as he picked the envelope up, and carefully unfolded the piece of paper tucked inside to read it, surprised that his hand was slightly shaking as he did so:

 

_"I'm onto you, Mr. Big Shot Executive.  One day, some way, we will be together.  Call it fate when you wound up finding my scrapbook, or destiny.  Or just plain, dumb luck.  But you haven't seen the last of me. I miss you already."  ~Warhol_

_P.S.  Next time we Skype, I'm leaving the camera ON this time.  Is tonight too soon?_

At the bottom of the letter was a detailed sketch of a familiar, single, long-stemmed, rose, lying on the top of a hotel dresser. 

Brian smiled in spite of himself.  His smile, however, slowly transformed into more of a sorrowful expression as he felt a pang inside; an emotional ache.  Because Justin wasn't the only one who was feeling that way at the moment.  Carefully placing the piece of paper back into the envelope and tucking it into the inside breast pocket of his jacket, he finally forced himself to pick up some documents inside his briefcase to review for his upcoming client meeting. 


	9. The Many Petals of a Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two men return to their respective lives. Will they ever see each other again, or was it just a temporary, fleeting, but enjoyable encounter?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow I completely forgot to insert Ch. 9 of this story, and overlooked it, so I am inserting it now. I apologize for the oversight, and will post the last chapter soon after I post this one. Sorry for the confusion.

   

_Central Park_

The day had turned out warm and full of sunshine; at least the weather kind. The young man presently sitting on one of the worn, wooden benches that ringed the lake in the park, however, was feeling anything but ‘sunshiny.'  In fact, Justin wasn't sure _how_ he was feeling at the moment.  Grateful that he had finally had the chance to meet the mysterious, enigmatic stranger who had rescued his sketch book, and who had occupied so many of his thoughts for so long.  In awe of how handsome, passionate, and tender Brian had been with him last night during his first time, how intelligent and self-assured he was.   How he had seemed to intuitively know what he wanted, and what he had needed from the first moment they had met. Most of all, he was pondering his feelings for him, trying to be objective about it, but finding it very difficult. He peered down at the deep, red rose lying on the bench beside him, still quite beautiful, helped in part by the small, green water tube at the end which he had made sure to refill this morning in the hotel room.  Somehow, he needed the reassurance that what happened last night really DID happen, and hadn't been just a figment of his imagination. Reaching for it, he lightly stroked the velvety-feeling petals with one finger before holding it up to his nose to breathe in the aromatic fragrance.  Laying it almost reverently back down on the bench, he smiled.  No, it had been real.  VERY real.  

 

Brian.  So many things described the man he had met last night.  He was a very complex man, one that viewed the world without any rose-colored glasses, but someone who was also fair and honest to a fault. He apparently had an incredible business acumen, gauged by the success he had spoken about with his company, and how he expected 110% out of his employees, just as he expected the same from himself. He knew, too, that Brian was capable of love; at least the kind a father had for his son, because it was obvious in the way he smiled merely at the mention of Gus's name, and the way his face lit up when he spoke about him, or how proudly he had shown him a photo of what was a younger version of him.  He could readily tell how much Brian adored his child, which he admired in him.  In addition, thanks to Vic's help,  he had found a way to gauge Brian's sincerity in him as a person; to determine if the man he had previously only known online as "Dean" was merely curious about him and wanted just a convenient, one-night stand while he was in town, or if he truly _did_ want to get to know him better.  To his relief, he had found out that Brian wasn't a shallow person; no, he was quite the opposite.  He was like a human version of one of his art palettes.  So rich in color and scope; an intriguing myriad of hues.   

 

But all those revelations was also the reason why his feelings were in such a jumble.  Now that he had met Brian, and had the chance to be with him in every sense of the word, and have the opportunity to know him as a flesh-and-blood person, he felt...well, how _did_ he feel?  Lost?  Empty?  Confused?  He looked around the park, so full of life - joggers enjoying the scenery as they used the trail paralleling the water, lovers walking hand in hand over the arched bridge, boaters serenely paddling on the lake.  There was even a camera crew getting ready to set up their equipment for a commercial shoot or some sort of television show or movie scene nearby.  Swans and geese were gliding serenely across the lake, creating intriguing patterns in the placid water as cattails swayed in the gentle, warm, caressing breeze.  It normally made Justin feel calm and not quite so alone when he was here; a feeling he experienced often, even amongst millions of people. One of the things he loved about this park, also, was how it served as an escape from all the hustle and bustle in the Big Apple.

 

Yes, any other time, Justin would find inspiration here in many of the things occurring around him.  But like some lovesick five-year-old experiencing his first crush in kindergarten, all he could think about was Brian.  Making love with him for hours last night (and in his mind, that's what it had been), waking up in his arms to light, peppering kisses on his skin that had quickly progressed into something much more passionate, showering with him, which had led to even _more_ kissing and sex. Enjoying a delicious meal with him at Grand Central last night over some entertaining, interesting conversation, and finding out how much they had in common, despite their age difference.

 

It had been the most wonderful night of his life, followed by the grandest morning he had ever had.  He would never forget this experience.  There was no way he would ever forget Brian, either, and how he had made him felt, which had made their parting so difficult this morning.  He had wanted to go with Brian to the airport to say goodbye, but Brian had told him he preferred to do that in private, telling Justin to enjoy the opulence and luxury of his hotel room and just remain in bed for a while longer.  Reluctantly agreeing with Brian's wishes, he had nestled deeper into the king-sized bed, clutching Brian's pillow to his nose to inhale the captivating scent of his lover as his companion took another quick shower.  He watched him getting dressed from the bed afterward, mesmerized by how amazing he looked, even when attired in a casual outfit of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, his heart heavy as he observed him gathering items and placing them into his carryon bag for his flight back to Pittsburgh - a trip that would take Brian away from him for an indefinite period.  For as much as they had both made promises that they wouldn't stay away from each other for very long, both men also knew it wasn't practical or realistic to expect they could see each other on a frequent, regular basis; not with Brian's business and family commitments, and not with Justin's lessons being taught by a man only a rare few ever had the honor and privilege of being offered his tutelage.   

 

Now, as he sat alone on the bench, his eyes were aware of everything occurring around him.  But the typical, sparking, inquisitive, blue orbs were listless, and his hands for once didn't itch to reach for a sketchpad that wasn't there.  No, his body was there, but his heart wasn't.  It was on a plane bound for a destination in another state. Timewise, it wasn't that far by plane, but for him it was a lifetime away.  He pursed his lips in determination, however; he knew it wouldn't be easy to maintain a steady relationship with Brian.  But he hadn't been offered lessons with a famous artist by sitting on his haunches, waiting for the opportunity to come to HIM.  And he wouldn't do the same, either, where Brian was concerned.  He knew it might sound like a soap opera plot, or overly romantic.  But he believed it wasn't just sheer coincidence or circumstance that had made them meet.  It was destiny.  Fate. Now he just had to find a way for them to be together, knowing that it would be much easier said than done.  Sighing, he rose from his seat and, making sure to reach for the much-treasured token of Brian's visit, he turned to head toward the park's northern exit, deciding it was time to return home before his father's security detail came and found him. 

 

* * *

_Justin's Penthouse - Thirty Minutes Later_

"What do you mean, you couldn't find him?" Vic demanded as Emmett and Daphne stood nearby, worry etched on their faces.  They figured Justin might be gone overnight - in fact, they had pretty much counted on it, especially after seeing the mysterious man he was having dinner with. But they also assumed he would be home well before now. 

 

"How hard could it be to keep up with him?  There's one of him, and four of you!  How could you let him out of your sight?  You knew where he was last night!"  Vic shook his head.  "His father's probably turning in his grave right now."  He glared at the men as they stood there, silently facing him.  "Well, don't just stand there!  You know where he was last night! Go do your damn job, and find him!"  Vic knew Justin had a level head on his shoulders and was quite self-sufficient, despite his relatively young age. But that didn't mean he always knew what was best for him. And even though he had had a good feeling about this Kinney person when they had met, what did he actually know about him?  He had promised Craig to watch over his son, and at the moment he felt like he was letting him down.  How had Justin managed to elude this elite team, anyway?  He seemed to excel at that, though, along with his art. It wasn't the first time Justin had eluded their observation of him. He sighed in exasperation.

 

The older of the group - a former Navy Seal in his 60's by the name of William Coates - shook his head; he was disgusted, too.  "He's a smart little fucker; somehow he outwitted us.  It was damn crowded around there last night." 

 

"Don't make excuses," Vic warned him.  "I'm sure there are plenty of other people who would take your place in a heartbeat," he reminded him. He was about to ask Daphne and Emmett if they had any ideas where Justin might be when the need suddenly disappeared.

 

"Well, thanks for the compliment," Justin spoke up wryly as he stood in the doorway of the penthouse; everyone whipped their heads around to peer over at him in relief as he stepped inside, holding his arms out to the side.  "As you can see, I'm perfectly fine."  He plopped down onto the couch in the living room and let out a heavy sigh. "So you are all dismissed now," he told the four security guards with a wave of his hand as they stood there in surprise, knowing by the expression on their charge's face that he had known all along about their surveillance activities.  "Permanently.  I can take care of myself quite well, thank you." 

 

"Justin!" Daphne screeched indignantly with her hands on her hips.  Now that she knew he was okay, she was dying of curiosity to know what had happened since last night.  "Where have you been all this time - with _him_?"  Justin rolled his eyes at her.  "Well?  Spill!  I want to hear all about it!"

 

"Yeah, WE do!" Emmett clarified, as he brushed by the beefy, former Navy Seal and the rest of the group huddled together to rush over to his friend, Daphne closely following on his heels.  "We saw him!  Baby, that man was hot with a capital _T_!  I guess we don't have to ask how last night went, do we?" he asked with a wink, causing Justin to promptly blush a deep red and earning a knowing smirk from both of his friends.

 

"Justin!" Daphne sat down beside him, gripping his arm so tightly that she threatened to cut off his circulation.  Her eyes twinkled. "Don't leave anything out!" she demanded as Emmett nodded vigorously, plopping down on the other side of him.  Justin felt like the ball in a competitive tennis match as he looked at one friend, and then the other before shaking his head in amusement.  "Guys..."  He peered over at Vic and the security men, who were staring at him intently, no doubt wanting to know the same thing; albeit, for perhaps a different reason.  Vic, he was sure, was as interested in all the details as Daphne and Emmett were, but he suspected the security guys merely wanted to know how he had managed to slip by their surveillance of him so easily.  He had his ways, but he would never tell, though. Besides, after today, he wouldn't have to worry about it.  It was HIS decision to make, and to him they were just an unneeded extravagance.

 

"Not here," he told them, feeling awkward with everyone's eyes on him. Did he want to divulge to everyone, including his best friends, all the details of what had happened between him and Brian, anyway?  It had been a special night - an extraordinary night.  A once-in-a-lifetime sort of night that had left him breathless and unable to even adequately describe it properly.  Did he want to share that feeling, that intensity, with anyone else, even with Emmett and Daphne?  Well, he supposed perhaps a little of the less intimate details wouldn't hurt, and he knew they wouldn't stop pressing him until he did. 

 

"Let's go out on the terrace," he suggested as he rose from the couch, his two friends eagerly rising to stand beside him.  Just before he turned to head toward the sliding glass doors that led out to the private patio, however, he turned to his father's former confidante. "I meant what I said, Vic.  I've known all along about the security detail, and I want it to stop.  I feel like the Secret Service are following me around! I can take care of myself, and it's an unneeded expense.  Now I appreciate you honoring my father's wishes - and I think they're entitled to six months' severance for their trouble - but I neither want nor need babysitters anymore.  Got it?"  Silence prevailed as he raised his eyebrows expectantly, noticing the security detail shuffling their feet. "Vic?  It's my decision.  Promise me." 

 

Vic remained silent, except for an exasperated sigh.  He should have known the young man would have long figured out what was going on, and that he wouldn't like it.  "Okay, okay, Justin.  No more watchdogs."  He turned to the four men standing nearby.  "You heard the man.  I'll send a severance request to the Payroll Department sometime tomorrow."  Amid some grumbling over being dismissed so handily - and all of them regretting the loss of what up until now had been a very lucrative assignment -  the men nodded as they all headed toward the door, closing it behind them and leaving the small group alone.  Vic shook his head in resignation as the three young friends headed toward the terrace.  "I'll be in the study if you need me," he told Justin, who nodded in return, knowing it would be fruitless to try and change Justin's mind. 

 

Justin was grateful that it was warm enough to sit outside.  The late-afternoon sun - still blinding in the cloudless sky - instinctively led the trio over to a corner of the spacious patio where it was covered with a trellised roof that allowed just a dapple of sunlight to peek through.  "Water?" he asked his friends, struggling for a little time to think about what he did - or didn't - want to reveal.  Both friends shook their heads as he plucked a bottled water from the mini refrigerator located under a small counter area, shutting the door with his foot as he headed back over to where the other two sat on a cushioned, wooden bench.  Twisting the cap off, he took a large swig of the liquid, wiping a small amount on his sleeve that escaped from his mouth as he drank greedily from it.

 

"Justin, quit stalling," Daphne replied, patting the outdoor cushion of the couch next to where she was seated.  "Sit down!  We want to hear the whole thing, from dinner until the good part when you got back to his hotel."

 

"Yeah, Sweetie, dish!  Don't leave out a single detail!" Emmett urged him.  "That man was hot!  I bet someone got lucky last night, didn't he?" Emmett sing-songed with a wink, causing Justin to blush a deep red.   "I KNEW it!" he shouted, startling him.

 

"Emmett!  Keep your voice down, will you?" he asked, embarrassed.

 

"What?  Afraid the pigeons are eavesdropping?" Daphne retorted.  "The only thing they'll be dropping is shit," she muttered, causing Justin's nose to crinkle in distaste.  Her eyes bored into his as she urged him, "Come on!  You have to tell us what happened!" 

 

Justin peered from one friend to the other and then sighed.  "Okay, okay."  He wasn't sure just how much he was going to divulge, but if he didn't tell them at least part of it, he was afraid he might burst. He smiled. "Dinner was amazing!  We both had filet mignons, and I found out we have a lot of the same interests in common," he told them.  "And the desserts they have there are incredible!  You know, they have the best limoncello tiramisu..."

 

"Justin...if we wanted a food play-by-play, we'd watch the Cooking Channel," Daphne complained.  "Vic said his name was Brian. We want to know about HIM!  We know what he looks like - at least with his clothes on..."

 

"Daph!"

 

"Well?  Are you going to tell us you didn't see him with his clothes OFF?  Somehow, I doubt you were playing Parcheesi all night."  She smirked.  "Probably more like strip poker," she quipped, producing a snicker from Emmett

 

"Daphne, do you mind?"  Justin protested, feeling his face warming at how probing their questions were becoming. But had he expected anything less?  Not really.  Even the word ‘probing' sent his mind adrift in directions he didn't want to go right now. 

 

"Never mind," Emmett dismissed her with a wave of his hand.  "Tell us first about the Twister game you played after dinner." 

 

"Huh?" 

 

"Tongue Twister!" Emmett clarified.  "How does he kiss?"  Justin promptly blushed as both his friends smirked knowingly.  "He _was_ a good kisser, wasn't he?" he asked.  He figured that anyone that looked like this man and had those full lips had to be an expert in that department.

 

Justin had to smile in recollection.  "Yeah...he was," he admitted softly after a few seconds.  He shook his head. "My God.... just thinking about him, and the sound of his voice; it's even sexier in person than it was over the phone..."  He felt goosebumps breaking out all over his arms.  "He was good at everything," he blurted out before he could help it.   

 

"Aha!" Daphne cried out triumphantly as Emmett's eyes sparkled with glee.  "You DID have sex with him, didn't you?  You went back to his hotel room! Where was it?  What was it like?  Which hotel was it?  With the way HE was dressed, it had to be someplace pretty fancy." 

 

Emmett huffed impatiently. "What are you, woman, an architect?  Who cares?" he commented as she huffed at him. "Those are trivial matters."  He grinned at his friend.  "We want to hear EVERY detail, Baby.  Starting from head to foot.  Don't hold anything back," he urged him.  "So...you started with a little Tongue Twister, and then...?" 

 

Justin gazed straight ahead at the panoramic scene in front of him as he went back in time to the past several hours; he already missed Brian intensely.  "It was such a nice, warm night," he began as he replayed it in his mind, his two friends temporarily forgotten.  "So after dinner we walked back to the St. Regis, where he was staying."  He shook his head in amazement.  "I don't know what the cologne was that he was wearing, but he smelled so good," he told them, both friends quietly listening in rapt attention as they allowed Justin to retell his encounter at his own pace now.  "The hotel lobby was beautiful, by the way," he told them, as he finally turned his attention back to them.  "Kind of an art-deco theme inside, with a lot of curves and mirrors..."

 

"Justin..."

 

Justin huffed at Daphne.  "Okay, okay," he grumbled.  He couldn't help it if he always noticed the artistic details of everything he saw.  "We got on the elevator.  It was a fairly small elevator, so we had to stand close together."  He smirked.  "I didn't mind that, though, because that's when I found out what a good kisser he was..." He shook his head.  "Shit.  It was amazing!"  He grinned as he recalled, "The two old ladies that were waiting by the elevator to get on when we got off didn't quite see it the same way, though." Daphne giggled as he he told them, "You should have seen the looks on their faces!  Brian just looked at them with this innocent look, and asked them if they were going down."

 

His two friends tittered over that.  "And then....?" Daphne pressed.  "Don't stop now!  Well, did you...?"

 

Justin frowned.  "Did I what?" 

 

Daphne had the decency to appear a little embarrassed as she explained, "Go down on him."  She elbowed him meaningfully.  "You know..."

 

Ears red to match his face now, Justin exclaimed, "Daphne!  Come on!  We had just had our first kiss!  I didn't have sex with him in the elevator!  Besides, we wouldn't have had time, anyway," he mumbled sheepishly. 

 

Emmett held up his hand toward his friend.  "Let him go at his own pace," he told her.  "But don't leave anything out!" he demanded.  "So you went with him back to his hotel room," he stated as Justin nodded.  "What did his room look like?" he asked. "Nice?  Elegant? Was it a suite of some kind?"

 

Daphne snorted.  "NOW who's playing architect?  Who cares as long as it had a bed?" 

 

"As if anyone would care," Justin pointed out as his friends dickered between themselves.  "We DID do some talking during dinner, you know.  He's a very intelligent man."

 

"I'm sure he is," was the dry response from Daphne.  "But I bet you didn't do a lot of ‘talking' once you got back to his hotel room, did you?"  The blush on Justin's face told her she was correct.  "Come on, Justin! Throw us a bone here!  Cut to the chase!  What did he look like naked?  Shit, if he looked that magnificent with his clothes ON, I can only imagine what he looked like with them _off_!"  Justin subconsciously licked his lips at the mere vision of a nude Brian, standing by the side of the bed, IN bed, and in the shower.  "Well?" Daphne encouraged him.

 

Justin let out a resigned breath.  He certainly wasn't going to tell them everything; he wanted his and Brian's first encounter together to be something special that only the two of them shared.  But he also knew he was going to have to tell his friends something.  "Let's just say that he didn't disappoint me, Daph," he finally answered her.  "He IS one magnificent looking man...and he looks especially sexy all wet and slick."  He couldn't help smirking at his friends' reaction as Daphne's eyes widened and Emmett gasped.  

 

"You had shower sex, too!?" she shrieked, causing Justin to wince at the volume.  "Oh, my God!  Okay, I want you to text him right this second, and find out if he has a brother...a straight brother...older, younger, I don't care!" 

 

"Sorry, Daph," she was told as Justin grinned at her pout.  "Only a sister from what he told me.  So unless you're batting on the same team, you're out of luck.  Besides, from what he told me, I don't think she would be much of a catch in either case."  He smiled at her dreamily.  "Fuck!  He was amazing in bed.  So patient with me.  So skilled.  And his hands...he has the longest fingers."  He shivered at the remembrance of what those fingers did to him, his hands roaming all over his body, making him feel things he never thought were even possible.  "And waking up with him this morning...what an incredible feeling."

 

"Justin!"  She reached over and gave him a friendly push of indignation.  "Uh...Hello?  You just skipped over all the details!"

 

"I know," he told her wistfully as he thought about their goodbye earlier in the day.  "I hope you guys understand," he explained.  "But I want to keep some things just between Brian and me."  He smiled softly.  "But I wouldn't have changed a thing...except for how fast the time went by."  Face turning sorrowful, he informed them, "We said goodbye at the hotel.  It was more private that way.  But it was so hard to see him go."  He looked at both his friends, who eyed him sympathetically.  "Shit, I miss him already."  He swore he could still smell him, taste him, feel him...even now.  Normally, new experiences provided him with the perfect material in which to inspire his art.  But right now, even though he knew at one point the he would _have_ to draw Brian, he just didn't have the heart to do it. Or perhaps that was exactly the reason why...his heart was too invested with how he felt about him to even consider recreating what they had experienced, or what Brian looked like.  Besides, even if he hadn't taken that one selfie in front of the Chrysler Building, he would always remember what Brian looked like even when he turned ninety, because the man was simply unforgettable. 

 

He turned to study his friends; first Daphne, who gave him a half-smile of understanding, and then Emmett, whose eyes were shiny with tears.  He couldn't help grinning over how easily Emmett became so emotional, even when it had nothing to do with him.  In a way, though, he admired that in him.  He, too, felt things deeply; and even though he trusted both his friends and Vic explicitly, he still couldn't help being just a bit distrustful of others' motives, especially once they found out whose son he was, or holding back just a bit on his emotions.  With Brian, though, while he _had_ been a little skeptical of his sincerity at first, now he didn't doubt the man's intentions at all.  And he knew - he somehow knew - that Brian would never think of what happened between them as a ‘one-night stand.'  And he refused to think that last night would be the only time they would be together again, despite the logistical circumstances and their respective obligations. 

 

Emmett squeezed his shoulder, both his and Daphne's insistence on knowing every nuance of their friend's evening fading away as they peered into their friend's face.  Trying to put a positive spin on the situation, he reassured him, "That's okay, Justin. We understand."  His eyes bored into Daphne's with a challenging stare as he asked her, "Don't we?  It was special, and he wants to keep it private."  Daphne pouted with disappointment, but eventually she nodded in agreement.  "However, any time you want to share, we'll be more than happy to listen; we'll be there with bells on." 

 

The word "bells" suddenly reminded Justin of the church bells he could always hear nearby whenever he had his art lessons, and his eyes widened in alarm.  "Shit!  I completely forgot my art lesson with Mr. Faberini today!  He's going to be so aggravated with me!  He gets irritated if you're so much as one minute late."  He left out a disgusted breath.  "Damn it.  Now I have to explain why I didn't show up, and I certainly can't tell him the REAL reason why."  Mocking the man's distinct, "indignant, professor-like" accent, he continued, "Now let me get this straight, Monsieur Taylor."  Daphne and Em giggled over his choice of the word ‘straight.'  "You missed your art lesson this morning because you were up all night having sexual relations with a complete stranger in some hotel?  A person you had just met yesterday?  Did they not have a phone in this hotel?  That is highly improper behavior!" 

 

Justin grinned.  "And I would say, "Oh, yeah, I was up all night; you got THAT right." 

 

All of them burst out laughing then, including Justin, easing a little bit of the knots in his stomach that were presently doing pole vault exercises.  He shook his head, just imagining how insulted the other man would act over his absence and lack of informing him.  For that is exactly how he would feel.  The man knew how talented and in demand he was, and he had never been one for wasting time, no matter whether he was monetarily compensated or not.   

 

"Why wouldn't he had just texted or called you when you didn't show up, Justin?" Daphne pointed out.  "HE could have used the phone, too, you know." 

 

Justin shook his head.  "Oh, no. He feels it is NOT his responsibility to find out why you aren't there.  But trust me, he will charge for it regardless.  And handsomely, too." 

 

Emmett smirked.  "Maybe you can just tell him that you missed your art class today because you were doing research on the nude male form, and wanted to draw one for your character studies."  Before Justin could open his mouth to reply, Emmett told him, "And don't deny that you haven't already started drawing that man in your mind's eye, because if any man would be considered a work of art, it would be HIM. And you lucky bastard; I only saw him with his clothes ON," he added with a wicked grin, watching as Justin's face turned red.  "Some guys have all the luck!  You think if I lost one of my scarves at Grand Central, some hottie would come to MY rescue?" 

 

Justin had to smile at that.  "I hope so, Em," he murmured.  He sighed.  "Well, I'd better go phone Mr. Faberini.  I'm going to have to come up with _some_ excuse, and I don't think the real one will suffice.  He can be so fucking temperamental sometimes!  I hope he doesn't get too riled up over me missing my lesson.  I've never missed one before." 

 

"I'm sure it'll be okay, Justin," Daphne assured her friend.  She shrugged.  "And even if he stomped out in a huff and wouldn't teach you anymore, wasn't it still worth it to meet Brian?" 

 

Justin went back in time, reliving the past several hours.  From the moment he had first laid eyes on the tall, handsome, dark-haired man standing so elegantly dressed in front of him, holding one, single, perfect red rose in his tapered fingers, his handsome face breaking out into a pleased smile that no doubted rivaled his own, he had been mesmerized.  And afterward, everything had been perfect, even more than he could have imagined.  He smiled and nodded his head as he turned to look at her, focusing his attention on the present.  "Yeah, Daph.  It was definitely worth it." 

 

* * *

 

_Later that Evening..._

Brian sighed, weariness creeping all the way into his bones.  He was used to working long hours for Kinnetik, but with the little sleep he had had last night in New York City, the flight back to the Pitts, and preparing for the crucial meeting with his client, he was feeling especially exhausted tonight.  He didn't have to look in a mirror to know that he had to look as tired as he felt.  Of course, there was another reason, too.

 

"You look like shit." 

 

"Gee, thanks, Theodore.  I think you look like shit, too."  Ted grinned at him from across his desk; by now he was used to his and Brian's banter, but they normally saved it for when they were alone, or out at one of their favorite watering holes.  He stared over at him dryly.  "Yeah, I'm sure I do.  But hey, we roped in two big-ass clients," he pointed out as Ted nodded.  "That's the most important thing, right?" 

 

Ted frowned.  "Well, normally I get a more convincing response, or at least some sort of smug smirk.  Why do I get the impression you're not as thrilled this time?"  Brian peered at him silently as he ventured to ask, "Could it be that the great Brian Kinney has finally figured out that there are some things more important than making money hand-over-fist and fucking?"  He held up his hand.  "Notwithstanding your son, of course."  Even Ted knew how much Brian adored his son; he had never questioned that, even when Brian was prone to deny it.  But there was something in his friend's expression - and the dull tone of his voice - that seemed to be more than just exhaustion from having such a long day.  "Something wrong?  The presentation went perfectly, and you said you bagged the other client in New York. But knowing your tendency toward perfectionism, I'm sure you've been up for hours today."  He smirked.  "Speaking of which, want me to call Henri and see if he can make a house call?  Looks like you could use a nice, long, massage right about now."   

 

Brian inhaled a deep breath and let it out, trying to break through some of the tension and stiffness permeating his body.  He wished briefly that a certain blond could be here so he could get a massage from him, instead of the handsome, French man who was paid an ungodly amount of money to come and give him private treatments when needed - whether it was the ‘traditional' kind, or a more intimate version.   He half-smiled at the thought of how Justin seemed to have magic fingers, not only when it came to his art; he had found that out last night when a warm body had perched itself on the back of his legs, and had proceeded to use some lotion from the hotel to roam all over him, starting with his shoulders, his arms, and then moving down his back and onto his ass, taking a leisurely length of time in which to do so.  By the time Justin had scooted down to massage his thighs and calves, he was feeling no pain; only pleasure - lots and lots of pleasure.  It wasn't soon afterward that Justin had asked him to turn over, and that was the end of _that_ particular type of ‘massage.'  As Justin once more sat on his legs and smiled sexily down at him, something _else_ was stroked with those magic fingers - and it didn't take long for him to erupt in orgasmic bliss with such intensity that it had stunned him.  That thought just made him feel even worse, though, knowing that it was impossible presently to touch Justin at all.  Perhaps he should have never met him face-to-face, because now he knew what he was missing, and he was missing it - missing HIM - enormously. 

 

"Brian?"  Ted furrowed his brow, his piercing eyes scrutinizing his boss and his friend when he didn't receive any reply.  Earlier Brian had been just like he always was during an important presentation; at the top of his game.  Polished.  Precise.  Meticulously groomed and elegantly dressed in one of his expensive suits. Able to answer any conceivable question the potential client threw at him regarding demographics about the product, market projections, and future ideas for keeping the advertising fresh and innovative.  And once more, he had managed to secure another account; an account that could fund the entire payroll for their company for the next year and even beyond.  But something was off this time.  He couldn't put his finger on it, but his boss and friend seemed...preoccupied.  Distracted.  There physically, but not there in his mind.   Clearing his throat, he spoke up a little more loudly this time.  "Brian."

 

Brian blinked slowly as he turned his attention back to his long-time friend.  "Yes, Theodore?  You were droning on about something?" 

 

Ted sighed in frustration.  "No," he told him quietly as he walked over and began to scoop up the paperwork lying around Brian's desk to place it in his briefcase.  "Like I said, you look like shit."  He firmly closed the snaps on the leather case before his boss could object.  "Go home.  Get some rest.  I'll turn everything off and set the alarm." 

 

Brian, frankly, was way too tired to protest.  Unable to stop from groaning as he scooted back from his chair and stood up, he nodded.  "Yeah, okay."  Impulsively, he briefly clapped his hand on his friend's shoulder.  "See you in the morning."  It was as close to a ‘thank you' that Ted would get, but nonetheless he understood Brian's gesture for what it was.  With a ghost of a smile, Brian walked away, his thoughts not focused on his success today, but on another man located miles away in distance, but deeply embedded in his heart.  

 

  

 


	10. Replay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin finds himself with an unexpected opportunity to showcase his art. But at what cost?

 

 

_10:00 P.M. That Evening..._

Brian tried to ignore the adrenalin rushing through his body, and the quickening of his heartbeat as he slid the door to his loft open and hurriedly shut it, knowing he was running late for the most important ‘meeting' of his day:  his nightly encounter with Justin.  He hastily slid out of his suit jacket, sighing in relief to be rid of the constricting clothing.  He had spent several hours after his successful meeting earlier, catching up on unfinished business at Kinnetik, and making sure all the documents were complete and ready to be sent to his newest client to seal their deal, one that would make the coffers of Kinnetik a lot richer than they had been earlier in the day.

 

Normally he would take sufficient time to hang his expensive suit jacket up in the closet; but he had more urgent needs to attend to at the moment.  So he hung it, instead, over the back of his desk chair, and smiled as he flipped open his briefcase lying on the desk to grab his laptop and head over to the bedroom. For what he was about to do, he needed to get comfortable.  After all, this would be the first time they would be Skyping with the web cam operating, and it would be his first glimpse of the beautiful man he now knew a lot more about - both physically as well as emotionally.  And each bit of information he gleamed from Justin - along with the strong physical attraction he now felt for him - only strengthened his feelings for him.  It also made his heart ache in ways he had never thought possible over their separation. The only other person he felt such pangs for was his son, and, of course, the emotions were similar but also different for both. 

 

Placing the laptop open on his bed, he tugged at his tie to loosen it and yanked it over his head, unbuttoning his shirt in between booting up the computer to turn it on, and unzipping his suit pants to push them, along with his briefs, down his long, lean legs and step out of his polished Gucci shoes.  Literally throwing his pants and briefs onto a nearby chair, he pushed back the cool covers of the bed and sat against the headboard, smirking as he angled the computer in a way that would be focused on a particular body part that was quickly becoming quite vested in anticipation of a certain someone's face appearing on the screen. 

 

As soon as his desktop appeared, he grinned as he heard a familiar ‘pinging,' signaling an incoming call.  His mouth widened into a full-fledged smile as he saw on the camera for the first time the man he had left earlier in the day in his hotel bed.  He knew it had been this morning, but to him the time between their parting and now had seemed like a lifetime.  He chuckled as he noticed Justin rolling his eyes as he realized where the webcam was pointed. 

 

Justin shook his head in amusement.  "Getting right to the point, are we?" he asked, his blue eyes twinkling.  "God, do you know how long I've been waiting here on my bed for you?"

 

"Sorry ‘bout that," Brian replied, surprising even himself by his apology, which he seldom gave.  Despite what he told people, however, he DID say those words on occasion, just on extremely RARE occasions.   But then again, with Justin, he was finding himself saying and doing things he would have never thought he would ever do before, so he wasn't totally surprised when the words slipped from his lips.  "I've been in meetings all day.  I just got home."

 

"Uh, huh," was the dry response.  "Well, I told you I would have the camera ON, and I expected to see your head pop up...just not that one."  He laughed as Brian found himself rolling his tongue into his cheek and grinning.  "After all, you didn't become such an advertising genius by being vague and obscure, I'm sure." 

 

"Got THAT right, Warhol," he told his caller.

 

"So everything went well?  Or do I even have to ask?" 

 

"You wound me," Brian told him.  "Of course it did.  And Kinnetik is millions of dollars richer than it was this morning."  He couldn't help thinking at the same time, however, that from a personal standpoint, in a way he was a LOT poorer, having to leave Justin in New York when he returned.  He couldn't quite comprehend why, but he DID know they were going to have to find some remedy to that situation.  "But as you can see, I still have some energy left in me." 

 

Justin laughed.  "Oh, I had no doubt of that, no matter _where_ the camera was pointed. Although, I admit you honed right in on one of the most important parts."  He smiled, making Brian smile at him in return, even though he couldn't see it.  "And we'll take care of that particular issue in a few minutes.  But do you think you could humor me for just a bit, and let me see your OTHER head first?" 

 

Brian grinned as he reached over and tilted the laptop monitor so Justin could see his face, making the blond's smile even more blinding.  _God, that smile_ , Brian couldn't help thinking.  It made his heart skip and his entire body thrum.  "Is that better, Picasso?" 

 

"That's Warhol to you," Justin reminded him.  His smile turned into something more bittersweet as he softly admitted, "I wish in a way that we had never met." 

 

Brian frowned at the unexpected sentiment.  "Why?" he asked, finding that distressing for some reason.

 

Justin sighed.  "Because I already miss you like crazy."  He was silent for a moment before he sheepishly admitted, "I was going to call you earlier, just to hear your voice. But I knew you were going to be extremely busy today, and I didn't want to disturb you."  He wrapped his arms around his bare chest as he lay in his bed, wishing it was Brian's arms cradling him instead; he could almost feel his fingers caressing his skin, and his shivered at the thought, not because of the cold. 

 

Brian's mouth crooked upward.  "I wouldn't have minded," he told him truthfully, noticing Justin's eyes widening in surprise.  _No use in trying to disguise it_.  "I...I feel the same." 

 

"Brian, there must be..."

 

"Justin, there's no easy resolution to this," he quietly reminded him, knowing where the conversation was heading.  "We've talked about this before.  You have your life in New York City.  I have mine here.  My son.  My company.  My friends.  Just like you have your friends there, and Vic.  I know he's like family to you from what you told me, especially with your father gone.  Plus, you have your lessons, and I know how important those are to you."     

 

Justin felt a lump appear abruptly in his throat; not sure if it was because Brian's words made him think of his father's recent passing, or because he knew Brian was right about there being no easy solution to their separation.  Perhaps it was both.   He nodded, swallowing hard and feeling too choked up at least momentarily to respond verbally.

 

"Justin," Brian continued, his voice softer.  He temporarily forgot about the initial reason why he had been in such a hurry to bring up his computer screen; the fact that he wasn't engaging in some sort of sexual foreplay by now actually surprised him just a bit, but it was further evidence of how he felt differently toward this young man as opposed to all the other men he had surrounded himself with.  But wasn't that the point?  The other men were just a means to an end.  Justin, on the other hand, was different.  He didn't want just him for sex.  Oh, no doubt about it. Their physical attraction was off the charts; but he wanted to get to know the _whole_ man.  "What do you really know about me?" he asked him, not in an attempt to discourage him, but to be realistic.  They had only known each other, one way or the other, for a short time.  And while he had experienced perhaps one of the best nights of his life (bar the birth of his son), what did they really know about each other?  Was it best that they break things off before it became even more difficult? 

 

Justin stuck his chin out defiantly; he was NOT going to let Brian take what they had lightly.  He didn't care how long they had known each other.  He was young, yes; but not too young that he didn't recognize this feeling for what it was.  Perhaps he wasn't quite there yet; but he knew in his heart he was falling in love with this man. And come hell or high water, he wasn't letting him go.  "I know all I need to know," he told him.  "And it wasn't just plain, dumb luck that you were the one who found my sketchbook." 

 

Brian had to smile at that.  "Oh, you're clairvoyant, now, Warhol?" 

 

Justin shook his head.  "No.  But even you admitted you felt something for me, remember?  You couldn't deny it.  Are you going to now?" 

 

Brian rubbed his hand over his face.  "No," he replied after a few moments, thinking he saw a slight gleam of triumph sweep over the younger man's face.  "There's... _something_ there."  He shook his head.  "It still doesn't help us with our little problem."  He briefly tilted the computer monitor downward as he added, "Speaking of a little...well, _not_ so little problem..."  He grinned as he heard Justin laugh; he loved that laugh. 

 

"Yeah, it's a rather _large_ problem, in fact.  Looks a lot like the same problem that I have.  And what did I tell you about seeing your face?" he chided him.

 

Brian rolled his eyes, but did as Justin asked, so once again, they were face-to-face.  "Just wanted to demonstrate my sincerity," he told him.  He smiled.  "So why don't we relieve a little tension first, and then maybe we'll have a clearer head to concentrate on something else?" 

 

Justin chuckled.  "Okay, you win.  Get naked, and then we'll get down to business." 

 

"Now that's what I like: a man who knows what he wants, and doesn't mince words.  I couldn't agree more."  Hurriedly, Brian divested himself of the rest of his clothing as Justin did the same.  A few urgent phrases of dirty talk later - followed by a series of moans, groans, and grunts, and a wild imagination - made short shrift of taking care of their physical needs as both men lay panting in their respective beds a few minutes later, sweaty and sticky. 

 

 

Struggling to regain their breaths, both had goofy grins on their faces as they stared at each other through the computer.  "Well, I must admit," Justin spoke at least, his voice raspy from their activity.  "It's _much_ better with the web camera _on_!" 

 

Brian laughed.  "No shit." 

 

Justin shook his head as his gaze swept over Brian's lean body, now glistening with sweat from their exertion.  "God, I wish I was there right now in your bed." 

 

"MY bed?  From where I stand, Warhol, yours looks pretty damn comfortable."  In fact, it rivaled his own ‘throne' in size.

 

"It is," Justin readily admitted.  "But it doesn't have YOU in it."  He let out a deep sigh as Brian gazed back at him intently.  "I know....I know.  There is nothing we can do about it...for now," he added for clarification, still determined to find a way.  After all, if they couldn't be together more often, what was the point in Fate bringing them together at all?  No, he wouldn't believe that Fate could be that cruel.  "Tell me more about what you do at Kinnetik," he urged him, his desire to know every bit he could about Brian as strong as ever.  "Don't leave anything out." 

 

Brian smiled wryly.  "Not even the guy who has a cold in the Art Department, and keeps sneezing all over my fucking foamboards?  Or the girls who I know are ogling my ass as I walk by, even though by now everyone in the whole damn company has to know I'm queer?"  He certainly had made no pretense of hiding that fact, and with the gossiping that went on daily, he found it hard to believe that everyone didn't know by now.  He supposed that still didn't prevent the ladies from admiring him, though. 

 

Justin crinkled his nose in distaste before shaking his head.  "No, I don't care WHAT it is; I want to hear all of it." 

 

"You know my company's offices used to be a bathhouse?" 

 

"What?! They were?"  Justin replied in disbelief; he had never been to one of those places, but Vic had told him about them before, mainly back during the time when Emmett was trying to immerse him in the world of queerdom.  After being hit on by several guys at the dance clubs, he decided there was no way he would ever waltz into one of those bathhouses with nothing but a towel on; especially not if he wished to keep his virginity intact.  Emmett almost made them sound glamorous, but Vic had set him straight. They were basically sex houses, where you did whatever and whomever you wanted, even with more than one man.  No, he did NOT want his first time to be like that.  Thank God he had waited for Brian to come along. 

 

"You DO know what that is, right?  It's not like a communal washing station." 

 

Justin snorted.  "Give me a little credit, okay?  I know what they are." 

 

"Are you telling me that you've _been_ to one?  Trust me, Warhol. They would have eaten you alive there."  The very thought shot a stab of jealousy through him for some reason.  He often visited them before Kinnetik got off the ground; hell, he _still_ did it to an extent at other bathhouses, although not as much. So why should it bother him if Justin did it?

 

Justin hesitated, not wanting to sound like some little kid, but he didn't want to lie to Brian, either.  "Well...no. But Vic's told me about them - and Emmett, too.  Em probably would have taken me to one, but I decided not to." 

 

Brian laughed congenially, silently relieved.  "Okay, I'll take you at your word on that. But yeah, that's what it was."  He smirked.  "In fact, you could say I knew it from top to bottom...well, at least from the top, before it became the building for my new company.  Gave me a perfect place where I could put a private bathroom in my office suite, too.  Already plumbed in and everything." 

 

"I'm sure," was the dry response.  "Wow.  I should be surprised by that, but I'm not somehow.  Tell me more.  About how your company got off the ground.  And how you wound up working in advertising.  About all the changes you had made.  Even what you were like in high school.  Did you play sports?  And when did you decide you wanted to get into advertising, anyway?"

 

"Hey, this could take all night," Brian teased him as he interrupted.  "Sure you can't think of something better to use our time for instead?" 

 

Justin blushed, knowing exactly what he meant by that.  "So...we'll spread it out. A little sex, a little conversation.  Rinse and repeat.  Sleeping is way overrated, anyway." 

 

Brian chuckled with a nod as he began to tell Justin more about his life.  It would be near dawn - after hours of conversation and phone sex - before either of them got any sleep at all. 

 

* * *

_Two Months Later...Chicago_

Justin stepped out into the bright, late morning bustle of O'Hare International Airport, blinking against the sunlight.  He gripped his carry-on bag in one hand as he grasped the strap of his portfolio with the other, threading through the mass of people congregated nearby as he strode toward the bank of taxis sitting by the curb.  He had been fine on the way here from New York City - having sprung for the luxury of a first-class seat to help make him more comfortable during the flight - but now that he was in the Windy City, getting ready for the interview of his life, he was on edge and anxious.  Not so much about his talent.  He knew he was good; it wasn't bragging, but just a fact.  He had heard enough people tell him that, even his tutor, Mr. Faberini, and he had continued to improve under his instructor.  But to be invited to speak in front of the Board of Admission to determine whether or not he would be attending one of, if not the best, art schools in the entire Midwest?  That was huge. Yes, huge, and also nerve-wracking. 

 

If not for Mr. Faberini's letter of recommendation, Justin knew despite his talent he would have never had this opportunity.  And until his esteemed art instructor - who had taken on a stint last month as a visiting professor at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, one of the best art schools in the country - he would have never even considered going anywhere else outside of his hometown.  The chance to come to this school, however - renowned not only across the US but the world - was too good of a chance to pass up.  To Justin, their graphic arts program was second-to-none, even outshining the school in NYC he was planning on attending in the fall.  So despite Vic's concern for his welfare, and the knowledge that he would miss both his friends Daphne and Emmett terribly if he were to relocate, he also knew he had to take this chance.  Just the thought of being a student there made his heart pound with excitement.  The chance to be taught by so many well-known artists in their field?  To create projects under their tutelage, and even be given the opportunity to possibly display his works at various art shows throughout the city?  The mere possibility thrilled him beyond measure. 

 

He had done some traveling with his father when he had been alive - mainly for leisure, or to accompany him on business trips as needed (he would hunt out museums and art supply shops while his father worked), but this would be the first time he was on his own in such a large city; at least, one he wasn't familiar with.  He would be independent and self-sufficient for the first time in his life, and he found that he _liked_ that idea. 

 

Opening the back door of the taxi and explaining to the driver where he needed to go (he was traveling light, since it was just a one-day adventure for now), he sank back into the worn seat and let out a sigh to try and release some of the tension building inside of him, placing his art portfolio and carry-on bag on the seat beside him as the taxi pulled out into the heavy traffic.  Peering out at the Chicago skyline, he used the approximately 20-minute drive to pull out his portfolio to review the pieces he wanted to show to the Admissions Board. 

 

A few minutes later, he placed the portfolio down on the seat, clasping his hands tightly together as he stared out the window, mentally rehearsing answers to questions he expected them to ask, such as why he wanted to attend their school, and why they should select him as a student.  He had the original letter of recommendation from Mr. Faberini with him, which he hoped would help him pass the admissions process, and two other letters from some of his late father's colleagues, who had come to know him over the past several years, and were vouching for his character more than his artistic talent.  Would all of that be enough?  He had never had any formal artistic training until Mr. Faberini had agreed to instruct him, not even in high school.  He had always loved art, but the private school he attended placed more emphasis on academics than on creative arts or even sports.  He had excelled with his grades nonetheless, but he had had no real outlet to pursue his passion for art...until now.  This would be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and he wanted it badly.  He had something to prove to himself, and he was determined to succeed.

 

He wished that Brian were here.  He would be much more comfortable and at ease if he were here to encourage him, to bolster him.  To reassure him that he did, indeed, have what it takes to succeed in this dream; to banish any fears he might have.  But apart from telling Brian a few weeks ago that he was considering the possibility of other art schools besides the one in New York, he hadn't told him that he had narrowed the list down to either the SAIC here in Chicago, or the School of Visual Arts in the Big Apple.  When it came down to it, however, Chicago would be his choice if he were given the chance.  It was the best of the best.

 

At the time they had talked about it, Brian had sounded indignant with him that he would even question his artistic talent, which had made his heart warm at his words of conviction.  Since their one and only in-person encounter, despite their best intentions, neither man had been able to make their schedules mesh adequately enough so they could repeat that one, incredible night together.  Except for rare occasions, however, they never missed their nightly webcam conversations.  It provided them with some satisfaction and brief release. But never enough for Justin.  He missed Brian's touch deeply. He liked to think that Brian felt the same way; he _seemed_ to in his tone of voice over the laptop, and in the way he looked at him through the webcam.  But he longed to feel Brian's arms around him again, holding him like he did that morning in the hotel.  Not being able to touch him was killing him.  It was almost better that he had never experienced it, because now he knew what he was missing. 

 

His breath caught in his throat as the cabbie suddenly swerved to just barely miss a city bus that had pulled out from the curb unexpectedly, causing him to grab onto the back of the driver's seat to avoid being thrown to the floor.  He let out a shaky breath and reached to gather up his portfolio and carry-on, now lying on the floor, trying furiously to calm his thumping heartbeat as the man glanced back at him through the rearview mirror and shrugged as if it occurred all the time in Chicago.  Perhaps it did.

 

A few minutes later, the cab slowed down in front of a sleek, contemporary building housing the art school's administrative offices.  Reaching into his suit jacket pocket, he grabbed his wallet to pull out some cash and a tip to hand it to the driver, hurriedly grabbing his portfolio and carry-on to open the door and step out onto the curb. 

 

Only when the cabbie had started to drive away did he realize something:  his sketchbook, which had been tucked in a pocket of his carry-on bag, was no longer there; it must have slipped out when the taxi had veered sharply to miss the bus earlier.  "Shit!" he cried out in alarm.  "Not again! Wait!" he yelled at the taxi, frantically waving his arms to try and get his attention.  But it was no use.  He stood there in dismay, dropping his hands helplessly to his sides as he observed the taxi disappearing from sight. 


	11. Found...And Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin unexpectedly receives a wonderful surprise. Will it lead to his ultimate dream?

_Same Time - Across Town - John Hancock Building, 45th Floor_

Dan Shelton shook his head in amazement at the foam boards spread out in front of him.  "These are perfect, Brian!  Exactly the idea I had in my head.  You must be a fucking mind reader," he marveled.  He jubilantly slapped him on the back as they stood hunched over the conference room table, peering at the latest advertising ideas for Shelton's company. 

 

Brian smiled back at him, trying to keep any hint of smugness from appearing on his face.  He wasn't surprised by Shelton's reaction; the man had been a client of his for so long, that he almost _could_ read his mind by now.  Unlike some of the more difficult clients he dealt with who were multi-million dollar accounts, Shelton's advertising was fairly straightforward and simple to envision.  The man - who was in his early 60's - was content to maintain a centuries-old traditional style of advertising, as long as it sold his footwear. And since he catered to an older audience, flashy was not his preference.  He nodded.  "I'm glad you're pleased, Dan," he told the other man. 

 

"As always, you've captured exactly what I needed, Brian," the salt-and-pepper haired man verified.  "It's more modern in design, but still honors the tradition of my company.  I like that you have focused on the shoe, and not given me some Fifth Avenue type model _wearing_ the shoe." 

 

Brian resisted the urge to roll his eyes at that.  The truth is, _no_ model on Fifth Avenue would dare be caught wearing any of Shelton's pedestrian-looking shoes.  But for the multi-millions he would receive by promoting Shelton's footwear to the Baby Boomer crowd?  He would figurately hold his nose, and deal with it.  "That's what I always try to focus on, Dan:  what the client needs, and the demographic he's focusing on.  I'm glad you think I've captured the proper market for your product."  He bestowed a polite smile on the other man.  "Shall I have Cynthia draw up the documentation for you?  I can have it to you by tomorrow."  As always - even though Brian was confident that he had the deal - he held his breath briefly until Shelton responded by holding out his hand to firmly shake his in an almost vise-like grip.

 

"Sounds great, Brian!  I can't wait to see the print ads and commercials up and running.  This should really help spur my sales before the holiday shopping season."  He clapped a hand on Brian's back as they turned to head out of the boardroom and toward the exit door.  "So, how long do you plan on being here in Chicago?  I'd love to take you out to dinner to celebrate.  Got a great steakhouse I know of.  You do like steak, right?" 

 

Whether he hated it or not, there was no way Brian would tell this lucrative client otherwise.  "Of course; what self-respecting man doesn't like meat?" he replied cheekily as Shelton nodded with a smile, totally oblivious.  "I'm actually going to be here for a few days."  He was tempted to tell one of his largest clients in the Windy City the reason why he was staying longer than needed to conclude their business. But he thought that was at best premature, so he held off on saying anymore. 

 

Shelton held the main office door open for him.   "Great!  Then how about we meet tonight at Harley's?  I'll give you the address.  Seven o'clock?"

 

Brian nodded.  He wasn't sure that was how he wanted to spend his time. But it never hurt to schmooze a client like Shelton occasionally, either.  Plus, once the dinner was over, he would still have time to head back to his hotel suite, take a shower, don some slutty dance clothes, and hit one of the gay clubs in town for some _real_ fun.  "Sounds good," he told the other man as he reached inside his pants pocket to retrieve his keys. 

 

"The address is..."

 

Brian shook his head and briefly held up one hand, back in full command mode.  "No worries; I'll just GPS it.  I'll see you then."  With one last nod and a wave at the other man, he walked to the bank of elevators and waited impatiently as he pressed the ‘down' button. 

 

 

Stepping out onto the curb a few minutes later, Brian raised his arm to try and hail a taxi.  His taller, commanding stature normally served him well in this endeavor, but presently the traffic was so heavy that the cabs he saw just rushed right by him.  "Son of a bitch," he muttered.  "No way am I taking a damn bus." 

 

Finally, after a couple more minutes, he managed to catch the attention of one taxi as the vehicle crossed over traffic and came to a stop in front of him.  Sighing in relief, Brian opened the back door and slid in.  "Ritz Carlton," he told the man, who nodded.  Sitting back in his seat and closing his eyes for a brief respite, he didn't immediately notice the object lying across from him on the floor until they had travelled a few miles.  Creasing his brow in curiosity, he bent to reach over and pick the object up.  "No fucking way," he murmured.  _It couldn't be_.  Surely there was more than one sketchbook that looked like this.  But as he held it in his hands, and began to skim through the pages there was no doubt who it belonged to.  He had seen this book before.  "Hey!"

 

The taxi driver - a swarthy looking man who appeared to be chomping on some ice from a cup lying next to him in the console - flicked his eyes up to meet Brian's in the rearview mirror; he hadn't said a word to him since the moment he had told him where he needed to go.  He raised his eyebrows in question.

 

"This book.  Where did it come from?" he asked the man as he held it up for his inspection.

 

The driver shrugged.  "No idea. It's not yours?" 

 

_No, you dumb idiot. Would I be asking that question if it were?_  He bit his tongue as he shook his head.  "No, I just found it lying on the floor back here."

 

The driver shook his head as he weaved in and out of the heavy, mid-day traffic.  "Who knows?  Just leave it.  The owner will come looking for it eventually.  Happens all the time.  I'll just turn it into the cab company, and let _them_ deal with it."

 

"No!" The force in Brian's tone of voice caused the driver to frown and eye him warily through the mirror.  "What I mean is, I know who owns this book.  Who was your last passenger?" 

 

The man huffed in irritation.  "The Pope," he replied sarcastically with a smirk, which was quickly erased as soon as he got a look at his passenger's angry expression.  "How do _I_ know? The kid paid in cash.  I have no idea. They come, and they go." 

 

_Not this one_.  "What did he look like?"  Surely someone else wouldn't have had his book. After the last time, he was sure that Justin would guard it with his life.

 

The cabbie rolled his eyes.  "Young.  Blond.  Sort of shaggy hair.  Slim.  I don't make it my business to get into my passenger's personal life," he told him.  "That's all I know.  If you know who it belongs to, why don't you just contact him?" 

 

_Duh_.  Mental face palm.  Brian huffed over the man's irascible attitude as he flipped open his cellphone and dialed Justin's number, finding it going immediately to voicemail.  "Damn it!"  He sighed.  He flipped it shut. "Was he your last passenger before me?"

 

"Look, Buddy, I make it a habit not to get into the middle of disputes or anything..."

 

"I'll give you a hundred bucks."

 

The man raised an eyebrow as he turned halfway around in his seat, barely missing another taxi who abruptly turned in front of him, earning a slew of profanities and a middle finger from the other driver.  Brian reached inside his suit pocket, and retrieved his wallet to pull out a $100 bill.  He dangled it between the seats, but held onto it as the man reached back to grab it.  "First, the info."

 

The guy harrumphed.  "Yeah, yeah, okay. It was some blond kid.  Now hand it over."

 

"No, you'll have to do better than that.  Where did you drop him off?" he asked urgently.  The man's lips pressed firmly together in defiance as Brian curtly told him, "No info, no moolah, capiche?"  He held up the familiar book he knew instantly by now.  "You really want to turn this into lost and found?  Or do you want help paying your bills? Brian eyed him pointedly through the rearview window, not backing down, and earning him the result he was looking for. 

 

"$100...in addition to your fare?" 

 

Brian rolled his eyes.  "Yeah, Yeah. Take me where you dropped him off, and I'll give you $200 PLUS the cab fare."  He reached in and pulled out a twin to the first $100 bill to show the guy he was deadly serious.  "NOW." 

 

The mustached man smiled through his crooked teeth.  "You got it."  He smirked as he turned around and veered right, heading down Michigan Avenue and away from the hotel.

 

"Just where ARE we going?" Brian asked him, unable to control his curiosity. _Why in the world would Justin be here in Chicago?_

 

"SAIC." 

 

"Excuse me?" 

 

"School of the Art Institute of Chicago." 

 

Brian nodded.  He had heard about that institution. Now it all made sense.  He was here to apply for admission; that had to be it. All he could hope for was that Justin would still be there when he arrived.  He wondered if he even knew the book was missing.  _Please, be there when I arrive,_ he silently pleaded, his need to see Justin - to physically BE with his lover, to hold him, kiss him - yes, damn it, even make love to him, because that was the only way he could describe it by now - so intense it almost took his breath away.  He shook his head slightly in amazement as he gazed down at the familiar book cradled almost reverently in his hands.  When had his feelings deepened to this extent for a man he had spoken to numerous times by now, and had rounds and rounds of cybersex with, but had only been physically with one time?  How had it come to this?  Just what was it about this young man that set him apart?  Was it because Justin only seemed to be the only one who really understood him?  Who could read through his bravado bullshit and vow of indifference to see who he really was inside? 

 

The only other person who could even come close to doing that was his son, Gus, who was young, guileless, and not tarnished by the cynicism adults quickly acquired.  Not Lindsay.  Not Michael.  No, not really.  Oh, they knew him to an extent. But for some reason he couldn't fathom, only Justin seemed to be able to read him perfectly.  He could tell in the way he looked at him, and in the probing questions he asked him.  In the conviction in his voice, when he told him straight up what he really thought Brian was saying, when his words were just the opposite.  Somehow, he could see through the shell he had erected through the years to protect himself from being hurt, and find the real man inside.  The man, if he were truthful with himself, that he wanted to be.  As he continued to gaze thoughtfully at the book, he came to one conclusion:  this remote relationship wasn't working. There had to be some other answer, and he would find it, one way or the other.  He wasn't going to let this special man slip through his fingers.

 

* * *

 

_Same Time - SAIC_

"These are very impressive, Mr. Taylor." 

 

Justin flushed in response to the dean's praise as he replied softly, "thank you, Sir," his hands clasped tightly together in his lap and his stomach churning as he tried to concentrate on his interview, despite his despair over losing his sketchbook once more.  Thankfully, he hadn't lost his portfolio.  But he was sick inside at the thought of never seeing his well-loved object again.  That item meant a lot to him - and not only because it carried some of his best-loved memories captured on its pages.  It also was the instrument that had inadvertently brought him and Brian together.  He had had just enough time to phone the taxi company to tell them of his loss, receiving a gruff promise that they would check with the driver once he returned.  But Justin had no idea who the driver was or his taxi number; just a vague description of him, and where he had picked him up and dropped him off.  Who notices such things?  It was a cabbie like all the others; in your life for a blink of an eye as a convenience, and then gone just as quickly.  Once he had called them, he had to rush inside the Administrative Building to attend his interview, not wanting to start off with a bad impression by arriving late.  But his potential loss still weighed heavily on his mind.  It was more than just a ‘book' to him. It was his memories come to life in his drawings, which now included some of Brian.  When he was lonely for him - and ached to feel his touch - he turned to them to help him provide some modicum of comfort until the time they could eventually see each other again; not just on an impersonal, computer screen.

 

The group of art professors, including the newest instructor and Justin's former tutor, Mr. Faberini, carefully studied the pieces in his portfolio as they were passed around the conference table.  Justin could see his former instructor nodding in satisfaction as he leaned next to another man located directly to his right, and murmured something so softly to him that Justin couldn't hear. But his face warmed as he watched the man glance over at him immediately afterward before he peered down at one of his sketches and nodded, so it was obvious the comment was directed toward him.  Was it a good or a bad comment, however?  And even if it WAS a positive comment from his former teacher, would his artwork and his answers to their questions be enough to gain him entrance to such a coveted school?  Only time would tell, because he already knew he would not be getting his answer today. This was merely one more additional step in the admission process, but he WAS somewhat heartened by the appearance of his former teacher; despite the man's frequent brusqueness and indecipherable responses at times to his homework assignments, he knew from the occasional nods and grunts during their lessons that he had been pleased with his progress under his tutelage.   He had actually praised his sketch of the wizened, old man who had been reading a book in the library that one day; that fateful day when he had lost his sketchbook at the subway, and...

 

He forced himself not to think about that, though, or about the man who had found it.  Right now - despite his great concern over the missing sketchbook - his future was at stake, and this was a priority.  So he took a deep breath as he gazed around the table, trying his best to appear confident and self-assured. 

 

The men and women continued to murmur among themselves as some of them paused to ask him questions over the next several minutes about how he would describe his style, his views on composition, the purpose for his art, and the obligatory questions about why he was interested in SAIC specifically, and the reason he deserved to be chosen over other candidates for the limited, much sought-after positions open to freshman students. 

 

Justin was relieved that he had practiced enough in front of his bedroom mirror back home - Vic playing the part of the interviewer - to handle most of the questions thrown at him by each member; of course, having taken lessons from one of the most venerable artists currently in the world today certainly hadn't hurt, either.  Faberini rarely took on students as he had with him. But he couldn't tell by the polite but stern-looking faces what sort of impression he had made, not by the occasional nod or some notes they were cryptically scribbling down on yellow legal pads.  He was convinced at that moment that all of them had had lessons at some point in being stone-faced, because none of them was giving anything away.  Perhaps it was a necessity, considering how many talented applicants they must see each year, and how few slots were available to be awarded.  He focused on the leader of the group clear his throat to get his attention.

 

"Well, I think that's all we need for today, Mr. Taylor," the Dean finally advised him as he rose to stand, everyone soon following his lead by scooting back from their leather chairs and rising as well.  Licking his dry lips to wet them - his pulse quickening as all eyes were cast upon him - Justin quickly rose from his chair immediately to the man's right and shook hands with him. 

 

"Thank you for this opportunity," he told the other man as he gazed around the room at the others.  "All of you.  I would consider it a great honor to attend this school." 

 

The Dean nodded as he stretched his hand out toward the door; no doubt he must hear that same sentiment expressed by every applicant they interviewed, but he meant it sincerely.  "My assistant will show you out.  We should have an answer for you within four to six weeks. You will receive an email, and then a follow-up letter." 

 

Justin nodded, gathering up the pieces of his portfolio and sliding them inside, before he hefted the strap over his head and diagonally across his body.  "I'll be looking forward to hearing from you."  _At least if it's good news,_ he couldn't help thinking.   He began to head toward the door, only to stop as he heard his name called.

 

"Oh, and Mr. Taylor?" 

 

Justin turned around to peer over at him curiously.  "Yes?" 

 

"Do take advantage of your time here to take a tour of the campus.  Your visitor badge will also allow you access to all the exhibits in our main hall. There are some very prestigious pieces there that I think you may enjoy viewing."

 

Despite his nervousness, Justin eyes lit up at the thought as he smiled in delight; he never missed a chance to view art, especially pieces that were of high quality.  "I will," he told him as the Dean nodded at him.  He stole one, last glance at Mr. Faberini, who also nodded back at him.  Was it encouragement?  He liked to think so, but it was hard to tell.  As he left the room, all the men and women smiled knowingly at each other, Justin unaware that an applicant's reaction - or lack thereof - to the Dean's comment about viewing the artwork on their campus was one of the tests he gave to determine a candidate's passion for their craft, and judging by the delighted expression on Justin's face, they knew this young man's hunger for creating and appreciating the beauty inherent in art was deep and sincere.  Nodding at the others, the Dean hurriedly scribbled some additional notes down on his pad lying on the table in front of him before they all slowly shuffled out to take a short break before the next candidate arrived.

 

 

A few minutes later, Justin was back outside, blinking against the sun's intensity as he stared directly into its rays.  Noticing one of his dress shoes was untied, he knelt to tie it before rising to stand - only to find someone facing him, holding out a book that had become almost like an additional body part to him.  His mind at first reeled from the sight as it failed to comprehend who was standing a few feet away from him, dressed immaculately in a dark gray suit.  _No...it couldn't be possible._ His mouth hung open in stunned disbelief before he finally found his voice.  "Br...Brian?"  _It had to be a mirage_ , he decided.  _A much wished-for dream.  This couldn't be happening._

 

But then he thought he heard a sigh of exasperation escape the imaginary man's lips as Brian replied with a smirk, "You really should take better care of your possessions.  I believe this belongs to you, Warhol?"

 

Justin's lips broke out into a blazing, delighted smile then as he realized this WAS no dream; it was all amazingly real.  "I _hope_ he does," he replied firmly as Brian chuckled.  He slung his portfolio over his head, dropped it onto the ground, and grabbed Brian's wrist to pull him into his arms, savoring the man's smell and touch, and the firmness of Brian's body pressed closely against his, his heart soaring.  "Oh, God, I've missed you," he murmured against Brian's chest as he burrowed deeply into his embrace. 

 

The two men stood there together for several seconds, Brian's hands coming to slide around Justin's slim frame as they both relished being together again, his hand still clutching Justin's much-loved sketchbook.  It wasn't until they had touched that both men weren't sure if this was real or not.  But from the first second of contact, they were vastly relieved to learn that it was.

 

A short while later, they broke apart slightly to gaze into each other's eyes, both wearing identical, goofy-looking grins as they searched out each other's lips for a kiss; one that lasted for what seemed like an eternity, as if they were trying to make up for all the time that had passed since the last kiss they had shared.  No place or no one mattered at that moment as they reacquainted themselves with each other's touch, taste, and smell.   At last, however, oxygen became the reason for them to break off their kiss, both men still lightly holding each other in their arms as they softly panted in and out. 

 

Justin once more felt that familiar, electric current flowing through him as Brian held him; only he could make him feel this way.  He shook his head, still in shock.  "How is this possible?"

 

"I had to come to Chicago for some business...and when I got finished, I hailed a cab.  And guess what I found in it?"  He shook his head wryly as he chided him, "Am I going to have to follow you all over the country, just so I can keep returning your book?"   

 

Justin pondered that for a moment.  "Would that work?" 

 

Brian laughed.  "First of all, you wouldn't dare do it on purpose; that book means too much to you."

 

Justin smiled as he gazed into Brian's eyes.  "Even _more_ now," he admitted softly, thinking how lucky it was that Brian had somehow found it twice.  Or was it just luck? Just like he had thought before when Brian had found it the first time, he couldn't help thinking that there was more to it than that.  Fate.  Destiny.  "You might be surprised."

 

"And second..."  Brian continued, pausing as he noticed Justin giving him an impertinent look.  "Are you paying attention to me, Warhol?" 

 

That evoked an eye roll as Justin replied, "Yes, Mr. Big Shot Executive.  I'm paying attention." 

 

Brian huffed.  "And second, I think that would be totally impossible, unless you had my schedule a year in advance. And in MY business, I'm lucky if I know what's going on from week to week."  Advertising was one, crazy, fucked-up occupation, he had found out long ago.  One urgent demand from an important client, and he could literally find himself on a plane to who-knows-where within a couple hours' time.  Advertising was anything but predictable. 

 

Keeping one arm around Brian's back, Justin reached up to brush a lock of chestnut hair from Brian's forehead with the other.  "If I could find a way to keep losing it - and you finding it - I would do it in a heartbeat."  A wave of embarrassment washed over him as soon as he said it, but he forged on just the same, the words flowing directly from his heart.  "Do you know how much I miss you?  It's just not the same hearing or seeing you over some webcam." 

 

Any other time, Brian would have thought of some snappy comeback to hide his true feelings, but in the long run he just couldn't do that.  "I know," he told him.  "I...," he took a deep breath; this was so new to him, taking him by surprise, "...I've missed you, too." 

 

Justin sighed in frustration, as he dropped his hands to his side, Brian reaching to grip his shoulders, needing to keep touching him to make sure this wasn't some wishful dream.  "There must be a way,   Brian." 

 

Brian studied the blond for a few moments before inquiring, "Is this where you want to end up for school, Justin?  SAIC?"  He realized he was probably giving away a little too much as he added, "You know, there is a very prestigious art school in Pittsburgh, too:  PIFA.  Pittsburgh..."

 

"...Institute of Fine Arts," Justin exclaimed as Brian nodded.  "Yeah, I know.  It's an excellent school.  I've already been approved for admission there, in fact."    

 

Brian's mouth hung open in surprise.  "You have?"  Justin nodded.  "I've heard it's a very competitive school."

 

"I know.  Thousands of freshmen apply each year, but they only take a few.  It's a very big honor to be granted admission.  Plus...it has one more added bonus; I would be living in the same place as you, wouldn't I?"  And oh, how he had thought over and over about that, to the point of agonizing about it. 

 

"Yes, you would."  Brian gazed into the intense, blue eyes before he replied softly, "And yet here you are in Chicago.  So it's not the place you have your heart set on...is it?  Because it's not the best of the best, and you need - and deserve - nothing less."   He reached to lightly stroke Justin's cheek with his thumb, already knowing the answer before he had to ask.  "Justin..." Brian's voice was firm and authoritative.  "Tell me the truth.  If we didn't have... _this_.  Whatever it is.  Whatever it may be in the future.  If you had never met me...and you could choose any art school in the country, which one would you choose?  Tell me the truth." 

 

"But we DID meet," Justin protested, trying to concentrate while Brian's fingers were caressing his skin.  He was amazed by how such a mere touch could affect him.  "I wouldn't want to take that back for anything in the world. So your question isn't relevant." 

 

"Yes, it is.  If what we have is real, Justin, it will last.  It will endure separation.  It has so far," Brian pointed out.  "Do you feel any less toward me than since that one night in New York?" 

 

Justin couldn't deny his feelings as he slowly shook his head.  "No," he admitted coarsely, his voice thick with emotion.  "No, wait. That's not exactly true," he added as Brian lifted an eyebrow in surprise until he explained, "If anything, it's somehow gotten stronger.  I don't know how that's possible...I can't explain it.  But it's true. You...You make me feel things I never thought I could ever feel.  Brian, I don't want to be apart from you.  Just seeing you again, feeling you...being in your arms.  It brought back everything I felt that first night we met.  It hasn't diminished.  Just the opposite.  Can you deny you don't feel the same way?" 

 

Brian gave him a weak half-smile as he responded with a simple, choked, "No."  He cleared his throat.  "But Justin, this is SAIC.  Even I know it's one of the, if not THE best art schools in the country.  You were here to interview for admission, weren't you?"  Brian lightly linked his hands around Justin's neck as his younger lover nodded.

 

"Yes.  You remember Mr. Faberini?  My art instructor in New York?"  Brian nodded.  "He's going to be an adjunct art professor for the coming year, and he was the one who suggested I apply. And I think he had a lot to do with me being invited to be interviewed in front of the admissions board today.  SAIC has some of the most influential, important artists in the country!  And the opportunities for students to exhibit their work here is endless!" 

 

Brian contemplated that statement, along with the excitement he could hear in Justin's voice. "You think you did well today?" Brian asked him quietly, his heart silently breaking in half before he heard the answer.  Of course he did.  He had no doubt.

 

Justin bit his thumb thoughtfully between his teeth before he nodded.  "Yeah, I think so. At least everyone around the table seemed to be murmuring things between them and nodding their heads at each other, like they were all in agreement about something.  They were good at not really giving anything away, though; but I _think_ I did.  And I know Mr. Faberini thinks I've greatly improved since my lessons started with him, and I imagine he would have some fairly strong influence on who gets in and who doesn't.  But he's just one vote."  He sighed.  "I don't know."

 

"So when _will_ you know?" Brian asked quietly. 

 

"They said at the end of the interview that the entire decision process from the time of the interview to when they offer admission is approximately four to six weeks, so I'm assuming it will be around then." 

 

Brian nodded, setting his jaw to extrude an aura of determination, although inside he was filled with dismay at the thought of Justin moving even farther away.  "Well, they'd be morons not to accept you," he told him firmly.  "So to me, it's just a formality."  He took a deep breath.  "So...Warhol.  _When_ they DO send out your acceptance letter to tell you that you have been approved for admission, what will your answer be?  Is this the one?  And don't answer what you think you WANT me to hear.  Answer me with what YOU want." 

 

Justin wanted to reply that he KNEW what he wanted; or rather, _whom_ he wanted.  But he knew that wasn't the answer Brian was seeking; nor would it be fair to him OR Brian.  He had to look at the larger picture, and where his passion lay, and how he could best nurture that passion for his career.  For as much as he was falling in love with this amazing man, he knew he had to look toward his future.  And he couldn't imagine his future without his art in it.  Up until he had met Brian, it had been his whole world. Now, though, that had changed somewhat; he couldn't imagine his life without Brian in it, either.  But he owed it to Brian to tell him the truth.  So at last he nodded.  "Yes," he whispered, the lump in his throat stabbing straight through to his heart.  "If they offer me admission here, I wouldn't feel right if I didn't accept it.  It would be too good to pass up." 

 

Brian nodded, his fingers idly feathering the soft, blond hair as if he might be feeling it for the last time.  Shit, he had just been reunited with Justin through a crazy, fucked-up coincidence, and now they would be apart _again?_   _Take it like a man, Kinney_ , he silently admonished himself.  It was Justin's future at stake.  "Of course it would be," he told him with a small smile. "...And I would be disappointed if you didn't act on such a big opportunity.  And ultimately, you would grow to resent me for it if I tried to dissuade you."   

 

Justin opened his mouth, ready to protest, when Brian held his hand up to stop him.  "You know I'm right."

 

But Justin stubbornly refused to believe that.  "I could never feel that way."  However, he still could hear the wisdom in Brian's words; as imaginable as it seemed, perhaps one day he _would_ feel that way.  Sighing, he lamented, "What are we going to do?" 

 

Brian leaned forward until their foreheads were touching.  "We're going to keep doing what we've been doing.  We have no choice.  And who knows?  Maybe one day, we may just wind up in the same city together."  He pulled back to see Justin's eyes glistening as he blinked back tears, but ultimately the blond couldn't keep them from escaping.  "Hey," he scolded him, his voice inexplicably gentle as he rubbed his thumbs against his now damp cheeks.  "Look, I'm going to be in town for a few days with this one client.  How long can you stay in Chicago?" 

 

Justin's face was a mixture of sadness and happiness.  How could two such contradictory emotions be written all over his face at the same time?  Sad that he knew he and Brian would, once again, be apart soon. But also ecstatic that they could spend a few glorious days together.  He took a shaky breath.  "As long as you're here," he told him, before they came together for another kiss, the world fading away for just a fleeting period of time.

 

 


	12. Surprise Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin begins his freshman year at art school in Chicago where yet another surprise awaits him.

 

 

_Richardson Grand Hotel - Downtown Chicago...One Hour Later_

"My profuse apologies, Dan.  You know if I could, I would love to have dinner with you..."  Brian rolled his eyes as he peered over at Justin, who grinned at him.  "...But I'm afraid that something suddenly came up."  He nodded his head as he listened to the other man prattle on.  "Yes, of course.  Next time.  It's a deal.  Say hi to Margie for me.  And I'll have those papers over to you as soon as possible."  He paused for a moment before nodding his head again.  "Thanks.  I'll be in touch."  He pressed the ‘end' button on his phone and placed it down on the desk table directly across from his king-size bed.  Gazing back over at his nude lover, sprawled out on the mattress like some tasty appetizer, he tugged on his tie to loosen it before throwing it over his head as he strode toward Justin, hastily discarding the rest of his clothing as he went.

 

Justin laughed.  "Something _suddenly came up?_ Hmm...now whatever could THAT be?"  As Brian toed off his shoes and slid his suit pants and briefs down his legs, Justin smirked.  "Never mind.  I just answered my own question." 

 

Brian grinned as he pulled off his socks, crawling onto the mattress from the foot of the bed like a stalking panther.  He intentionally slid his body upward at an excruciatingly slow pace, hearing Justin gasp as their cocks brushed against each other's. "Yeah, it did," Brian whispered, his voice raspy. "VERY suddenly. And there's only one remedy for it."  Draped completely on top of the slim blond now, the two lovers kissed deeply, hungrily, knowing, like their others, that this tryst would be only temporary and much too brief.  Breaking off their kiss, Brian cupped his hands on either side of Justin's face as if he were memorizing every detail of it, not knowing when the next time would be that he would have the chance to make love to him, touch him, feather his soft, blond hair through his fingers, or kiss his lips that always seemed to perfectly mold against his. 

 

Justin panted softly in and out as Brian stared at him intently.  "What?" he whispered. 

 

Brian pecked his lips before bracing himself on his elbows to cushion some of his weight. Shaking his head, he knew he couldn't say the words that so desperately wanted to escape, but that didn't mean he did not realize what his heart was telling him; somehow, some way, this young, passionate, creative, and intelligent man had managed to make him fall in love with him.  He would have never even imagined himself capable of such emotion, but he knew somehow without a doubt that he loved Justin.  He just couldn't express it verbally. 

 

"It's nothing," he assured him softly with a smile.  "Just have a lot on my mind." 

 

Justin gazed into his lover's face for a few moments, not quite sure what he saw there, before he responded, "Well, maybe I could help divert your attention; at least for a little while.  Now if you'll just sit up and let me reach for my sketchpad..."  His eyes twinkled at the horrified look on Brian's face.

 

"No fucking way, Warhol!  Drawing my cock is the last thing on my mind.  But using it?  Now, that's a completely _different_ story."  He quickly flipped themselves over so Justin was on top of him, evoking a surprised squeak from the younger man.  He grinned at the smug expression on his lover's face.  "You already knew that, though, didn't you, you little shit?" he growled as Justin flashed him a blinding smile, not even attempting to appear confused.  He shook his head in amusement, unable to avoid grinning back at his playful companion.  "Ever done any riding on anything else besides the subway, Warhol?  That issue that suddenly came up needs to be taken care of ASAP."  Just having Justin shifting on top of him was driving him crazy with desire, and he suspected Justin knew exactly what he was doing by the superior look on his face.

 

"Hmm...well, I used to ride a bike when I was younger. And I rode a streetcar when my Dad took me to San Francisco back when he had some business several years ago.  But I've never ridden a horse, though.  Is that maybe what you had in mind?" he asked innocently as he gripped Brian's muscular biceps to brace himself.

 

Brian smirked.  "How perceptive of you. That's exactly what I had in mind. You're about to ride a magnificent stallion. So hang on, cowboy, it's going to be a wild ride!"  He smacked Justin's ass then, laughing at his lover's indignant expression, before he reached over to grab a condom packet and a small bottle of lube to hand them to his ‘rider.'  "Saddle up, Tex." 

 

Justin couldn't help giggling over the corny demand as he broke open the condom packet and slid the latex over Brian's rigid cock, following up with slathering some lube down his shaft, before he lifted himself up enough to spread some of the slick substance around his hole to finger-fuck himself. Brian thought it was one of the hottest things he had ever seen.  Justin may have never had sex this way, but it was obvious he was a natural at it and eager to experiment.  He perched his perky ass above Brian's cock and, lining himself up, he slammed himself down to the hilt in one motion so they were flush, skin to skin.  Justin hissed briefly at the pleasure/pain as he placed his hands, palms down, on Brian's chest.

 

"Oh, fuck," Brian moaned loudly at the sensation of how tightly he was surrounded.  The feeling was indescribable.  It was almost too much: the hot walls encasing his cock, Justin's hands on his skin, so warm to the touch, the darkened, blue eyes filled with lust as he locked gazes with him; the strength shown in the pale thighs as Justin lifted himself up, just long enough to slide out partially, before impaling himself on his cock again.  And when he began to swivel his hips, Brian thought he would lose his fucking mind.  The loud moan he emitted again as Justin continued to ride him masterfully was something he had never heard himself utter before in his life, and whether it was from being apart for so long, his deep feelings he now had for this beautiful man who was riding him like a pro rodeo writer, or a combination of both; all he knew was that he was falling into an abyss - a welcome, mind-blowing abyss from which he never wanted to escape. 

 

"Justin," he managed to gasp out as his balls began to tighten in impending climax.  His body was wired tight as a snake, and every nerve fiber was on fire by his lover's touch as he reached out with his right hand and began to stroke Justin's cock in time with the blond's movements.  "You're making me fucking crazy," he declared as - his brow peppered with sweat - he blinked the moisture away to reach out through his lust-filled haze to grasp Justin's hand in his, their fingers interlocking tightly together.  "I'm....I'm...aaarrrhhhhh..... _Justin_....!"  Arching his upper body off the bed, Brian cried out in an animalistic type of cry as he came copiously inside the condom.  A few more tugs on Justin's cock, and he, too, let forth with a loud moan and spurted his come all over Brian's torso and hand. 

 

His chest heaving and slick, Justin fell onto Brian's body in a boneless heap, completely spent, lying there for a while as he fought to control his breathing.  He could feel Brian's hands slowly sliding up and down his back, until he felt him gently push him to the side so he could pull out, the separation both pronounced and extremely unwelcome.  Both men lay there gulping for air for several seconds until Brian reached for Justin's smaller hand to link them together, their erratic panting the only sound heard in the room.  Faint sounds of a siren blaring below from a fire truck - and an occasional honking of taxi horns - drifted up from the streets as they stared up at the ceiling in companionable silence. 

 

"Brian?"  At last Justin whispered, turning his head to peer over at his lover; he drank in every angle and curve of his lightly muscled body, needing to remember every nuance of it until the next time they could see each other again.  He was unaware that Brian had done much the same thing before they had made love.

 

Brian turned to stare over at his younger lover with a raised eyebrow.  "Hmm?" 

 

"When do you have to leave?"  _Please, don't let it be tomorrow..._

"When do _you_?" Brian countered, wondering the same thing. 

 

"Brian..."

 

The older man sighed as he pulled Justin into his arms and held him close.  "I'll be here for a few more days yet. Depends upon when I get all my business wrapped up.  By its very nature, advertising is never an exact business.  It could be a day sooner, or a day later."  He laid his chin on Justin's head, breathing in the scent of his shampoo, as he heard Justin state firmly, "Well, draw it out as long as you can." 

 

Brian chuckled.  "I'll see what I can do.  Speaking of drawing...you didn't answer my question, Warhol.  How long can YOU stay here?" 

 

"Well...technically, my visit was over earlier today..." 

 

"But..."

 

Justin smiled as he turned his head to peer up into his lover's eyes.  "...but I think I may need a few more days to think about it."  He leaned up to kiss Brian on the lips; a gesture that quickly escalated into some heavy petting, more kissing, more caressing, and then another round of lovemaking. 

 

An hour later - fresh out of another bout of fucking in the shower - the two lovers drifted off to sleep, forgetting temporarily that soon their time together would be over once again. 

 

* * *

 

_Late August - SAIC - Chicago_

"Justin Taylor?"   

 

Justin peered up from his place on one of the campus's wooden benches - his favorite that rested underneath a majestic oak tree - and stared over at the stranger who had addressed him.  He had only been here for two weeks now, but was finding the new environment - and the assignments being given to him - both challenging as well as exciting.  Finally, his passion had an outlet, where he could let his creativity flow, and be amongst others who shared his enthusiasm.

 

He had elected to rent a small apartment off the main campus a few blocks away; the shady, residential, quiet area appealed to him, and was a short walk to Lake Michigan.  He could see the sun rising from his bedroom window each morning, and found great joy in sitting out on the balcony as the weather permitted, sketching the various hues the vista presented above the glimmering water.  He found the scene both relaxing and inspiring. 

 

Yes, his life had definitely changed a great deal from his previous time in New York City. And each day that went by here at the Institute merely cemented in his mind that he had made the right choice in schools.  He had also made a few friends that he hung out with from time to time.  The instructors - all renowned in their respective fields - made him stretch his capabilities even further, and pushed him to perform even better than he would have ever thought possible.

 

He DID miss his friends back home - Daphne, Emmett, and also Vic.  But he intended to fly home frequently, as often as his school schedule would allow, and he thought he would see them often enough.  So, yes, at the moment he should have felt fulfilled and happy. But there was one thing missing:  the man who continued to haunt his every dream, and whose presence he sorely missed. The man whose arms he longed to feel holding him at night, and caressing his body as he showered him with kisses.  The one man who had appeared so unexpectedly in his life, but had made such an indelible mark on his heart.  He had seen him a couple of times since that day he had run into him, not too far from where he was sitting now.  In fact, it was one of the reasons why this bench was one of his favorite spots to work on his assignments, or just do some people watching; it was close to where he had first spied Brian, holding up the sketchbook he had managed to lose twice. 

 

But this man - decked out in full uniform with a black hat and matching suit jacket and pants - was unknown to him.  He noticed the man was clutching something in his left hand, however:  a long-stemmed, beautiful red rose.  His eyes widened and his heart sped up, even though he tried not to place too much importance on what could be a coincidence. But the man HAD called out his name...hadn't he?  Or had he just imagined it?   And was he also imagining the black limousine that was parked at the curb directly behind the man? 

 

Several of the students stopped what they were doing to stare over at the unconventional vehicle, and the impeccably dressed man standing formally erect like a soldier as he stared over at Justin.  "You _are_ Mr. Taylor?"  the man repeated, and it was then that Justin realized it all _wasn't_ a dream.  _What was going on?_

 

He slowly nodded.  "Yes, that's me," he confirmed warily as the man approached even closer. 

 

The dapper-looking man nodded. "This is for you," he told Justin, holding out the beautiful flower, an exact replica of another rose he had seen before.  The uniformed limousine driver held out his hand after Justin shakily took the proffered flower.  "Would you come with me, please?  Your presence is requested." 

 

Justin held the fragrant flower to his nose, inhaling the intoxicating scent before he couldn't resist asking, "By whom?" 

 

The tall, dark-haired man - who appeared to be in his early forties - politely shook his head.  "I'm sorry, Sir; I'm not at liberty to say," the man apologized, opening the door in silent invitation.

 

_This has to be Brian's doing somehow_ , he surmised. This couldn't be just some coincidence; after all, who else would do something like this but Brian? Who else could _afford_ it?  Well, he could, but he had never been the ‘showy' type.  But if it was Brian, why now?  Any other time they had met, Brian had never gone to such extravagant measures to meet up.  Trusting his instincts, however, Justin rose to his feet, collecting his portfolio, the much-heralded sketchbook that had been the impetus of his and Brian's relationship, and a couple of his schoolbooks, before walking over to bend his head down to enter the cavernous interior of the limo. 

 

To say it was luxurious was an understatement:  It could easily hold at least eight people, and was all leather, gold, and crystal. A small table that jutted out from the back of the driver's seat held a small bottle of champagne, one fluted glass, and a compact, oval platter containing a small plate of creamy, cheese wedges, crackers, and red, seedless grapes.  Not having eaten lunch that day, Justin smiled at the sight, laying his school supplies down as he opened up the bottle of champagne and poured the contents into the stemmed glass, taking an appreciative sip and crinkling his nose as the bubbles wafted up from the surface.  Placing the glass down temporarily, he began to munch on the crackers, grapes, and cheese, finding it melting in his mouth; he had never tasted such smooth, mellow cheese before, and he found it delicious.  Within minutes, he sheepishly noticed that he had drank and eaten every bit of the palatable plate.  Now, as he sank into the thick leather seat, he anxiously waited to find out what all of this grandeur was about.

 

* * *

 

After several minutes of heavy, stop-and-go traffic, Justin felt the limo slowing down to a stop in the heart of downtown Chicago.  He peered out the window at all the surrounding skyscrapers as he watched the car pull over to the curb and stop; soon he heard the sound of the driver's door opening and then slamming shut.  A few seconds later, the side door opened wide.  "Mr. Taylor?  If you would step outside, Sir." 

 

Justin collected his things - grabbing the rose at the last minute, draping his portfolio strap across his shoulder, and cradling his books and sketchbook in his hands - only to have the driver tell him, "You can leave your things in the car, Sir.  You will be able to retrieve them later." 

 

Justin held the rose tightly in his hand, almost needing it for reassurance that it was, indeed, from Brian. There was no way he was letting go of it. But still, he hesitated leaving his other items in the vehicle.  He eyed the man a little skeptically as he vacillated between deciding against that suggestion, or doing as he instructed.

 

The driver stifled a smile over the way the young man held so tightly onto the flower, almost as if it were made of spun gold, rather than silky, fragile petals. "It'll be all right, Sir," he reassured him.  He handed Justin a business card with the name " _Centrifuge"_ written on it, along with the address.  _Centrifuge?_ The name somehow sounded familiar to him, but he wasn't sure why. "Just take the elevator up to the top floor.  The receptionist will take care of you from there.  They're expecting you." 

 

Justin grumbled over all the secrecy, but he allowed the man to take his school equipment from him - choosing to keep the rose - and place them back in the limousine.  "You're staying here until I get back?" he pointedly asked the uniformed man.  There was no way he was losing his sketchbook again.

 

"Yes, Sir," the man assured him.  "I will be waiting until you come back down."

 

"And I suppose it wouldn't do any good for me to ask you who I'm meeting on the top floor, would it?" 

 

The man gave him a sympathetic smile, but shook his head.  "Sorry, Mr. Taylor. But I'm not permitted to divulge that information." 

 

Justin sighed in exasperation; the Secret Service had nothing on THIS man.  "Somehow I knew that would be your answer," he grumbled as he turned and headed into the tall, glass-enclosed building, noticing a man and a woman in marooned-colored, smart-looking uniforms sitting at a curved concierge desk to the right of the entrance, along with a security guard.

 

"May I help you?" the woman asked as Justin approached, card and rose in hand.

 

"Uhh...my name is Justin Taylor.  I was told to come here."  He held out the card as the woman scanned a list on a clipboard.

 

"Yes, Mr. Taylor.  You will need to take those elevators over there," she told him, pointing to a bank of elevator doors on the opposite wall.  "The company is on the 34th floor.  It occupies the entire space," she explained as Justin nodded.  Whatever company this " _Centrifuge"_ was, it must be a big organization.

 

Feeling the eyes of the others boring into his back as he turned around, he headed toward the bank of elevators, concentrating on the feeling and delicate scent of the rose in his hand.  Somehow it steadied his nerves.

 

* * *

 

The few people he found himself in the company of a few minutes later slowly drifted away the farther up he traveled in the elevator, leaving him as the sole occupant once he reached the 34th floor.  His heart pounding and his palms sweaty, he heard the swoosh of the elevator doors opening, and was instantly met by the bustling sounds of what appeared to be at least 80 employees working at their open cubicles, either typing something on their computers, hunched over a table together studying paperwork, or talking on the phone.  It was what he would call ‘planned chaos,' because there was still a sort of orderliness to it, along with a definite feeling of energy and urgency in the air, as he walked over to a nearby desk that was directly across from the elevators; this was presumably the receptionist's desk that had been referred to before.  Above her station was the name of the company written in flowing script...along with another line that make his heart almost stop in shock.  He couldn't prevent the gasp from escaping his lips as he read the second line below the name of the company:  _A Division of Kinnetik, Inc._ "What in the world?"  He hadn't meant to voice that question aloud, but when the girl sitting behind the desk peered up at him, he realized that he had.

 

"May I help you, Sir?"

 

Justin closed his mouth which had gaped open like a fish out of water, and swallowed before nodding at her.  "Uhh...yeah...my name is Justin Taylor, and I..."

 

"Oh, yes, Mr. Taylor," the young woman immediately responded promptly before he could finish, acknowledging him as if they were well-known acquaintances.  "Just a moment; I'll ring for Cynthia." 

 

Justin frowned, but nodded at her as he watched the woman pick up her phone and dial an extension to advise the caller on the other end that "Mr. Taylor has arrived," kind of like announcing a groom showing up at his wedding, or a king to his coronation.  _What the fuck?_

 

"She'll be right up," she told him with a smile.  "Would you like to take a seat?  Some coffee?" 

 

Justin shook his head as she nodded and returned to her typing.  He walked approximately ten feet over to a settee group with a coffee table in the middle, displaying what appeared to be the bland sort of financial statement reviews that you often would see in a company's lobby.  He reached to pick up one of the magazines spread out like a deck of cards on the table when he thought he recognized the man featured on the front cover. But before he could check further, however, he heard his name being called...again. 

 

"Mr. Taylor?"  An elegantly suited, tall, blonde woman smiled warmly at him as he stood up to face her and nodded.  "My name's Cynthia Moore." She reached out her hand to firmly grasp his.  "If you'll follow me, I'll take you where you need to go." 

 

"Now hold on just a minute," Justin stopped her with a slightly harsh tone of voice; he didn't want to be rude, but he was past the point of being patient now. 

 

The woman turned around to peer over at him.  "Is something wrong?" 

 

He pointed over to the company sign. "The name on the wall over there says this place is a division of Kinnetik.  That's...that's _Brian's_ company!"

 

The woman smiled at him and nodded.  "Yes, it is.  I'm Mr. Kinney's executive assistant."

 

"You are?"  The woman nodded.  "Then Brian is here?" 

 

Cynthia sympathized, seeing the frustrated expression on her visitor's face. For the past several weeks, Justin's name had slipped out of Brian's mouth more than he had realized, and she had been inordinately curious about this man who obviously meant a great deal to her boss.  She was a bit taken aback to see how much younger he was, however, but if he hadn't been gay...Wow. Brian was sexy, commanding, and handsome, but Justin Taylor was...beautiful. That was the only way to adequately describe him, and she could see how Brian - or anyone else - would become quickly enchanted with him. She had to bite her tongue not to reveal too much (Brian had given her explicit instructions about it) as she replied, "Please...come with me, and you'll soon find out." That was as much as she could say without coming right out and telling him, but she hoped he would know what she was trying to convey, anyway.  Frankly, she didn't understand all the subterfuge that was occurring, but she had promised to abide my Brian's ‘cloak-and-dagger' directive nevertheless.

 

Justin sighed, but nodded in agreement as she turned and led him down the carpeted hallway toward the private office suites of the company, tucked away from the rest of the hectic activity occurring on the main floor, and entered through a set of two, glass, double doors.  As soon as she opened the doors with a swipe of her security card and closed the doors behind them, Justin noticed an immediate decrease in the noise volume, since this area contained several offices separate from the other floor.  Most of the rooms, however, had a set of windows facing out onto the aisle way, so as she and Justin walked by them, Cynthia smiled and waved to a few of them until they reached the end of the hallway, where one, last office was situated.  Unlike the other offices, however, this suite's door was constructed of oak and frosted glass, and the windows had their blinds shut, so they obscured the details of any movement inside.

 

Rapping sharply on the door, Cynthia swung it open, revealing an elegant, sleek office that offered jaw-dropping views of downtown Chicago and the harbor.  Justin couldn't help walking closer to the windows to take a more detailed look, his hands practically itching to draw what he was seeing; for now, however, he tried furiously to remember every detail he could, so he could sketch it by memory later.  The view was absolutely magnificent, especially the marina with its boats lining the shore.  He even saw a clipper ship, of all things, farther out in the water.

 

"Mr. Taylor?" 

 

Justin turned around to peer over at Cynthia, momentarily losing track of why he was there.

 

"Please...have a seat, or feel free to look around.  I'll be right back," she told him as she traveled over to one of the other doors, rapped twice, and disappeared inside. 

 

Justin made use of his time to do a little more scrutinizing of the masculine-looking but contemporary room. His artistic eye felt the furniture and accessories matched the style of architecture perfectly.  A large, imposing, desk sat against the far wall, and there were two doors leading to presumably other rooms on either side of the suite.  A conversational-type area was situated in the corner, with a couch and two chairs surrounding a glass coffee table, and a long buffet sat against the wall, holding a coffeemaker, water carafe, and several glasses and mugs.  Justin paused in the middle of the room to admire all the original artwork scattered throughout the room, including on the walls and shelves.  He stopped as his eyes lingered on one very familiar piece: It was his rendition of Manhattan that he had drawn in his sketchbook that Brian had asked to borrow for an ad campaign, and it was hanging behind the desk; only it was now part of a larger advertisement for the aviation product Brian had been advertising.  Brian had been right; the drawing had been perfect for what he had had in mind for his client.  He couldn't help smiling at the prominent spot Brian had chosen to display it.

 

A few moments later, he could hear a door opening and the clacking of Cynthia's high heels, along with some heavier footsteps, as, at last, the person he desperate hoped to see appeared.  He couldn't help the brilliant smile that broke out on his face as Brian grinned back in amusement at him before instructing his assistant, "That's all I need. Lock the door on your way out." 

 

Cynthia smirked at her boss before she mock-saluted him.  "Yes, Sir."  She turned to face their visitor as she added, "Nice to meet you, Justin. Something tells me we'll be seeing a lot more of you; well, at least one of us will, anyway," she added with a knowing smile as Brian rolled his eyes at her, making Justin blush.  He wondered just what Brian had said to her about him, but his attention was too focused on his lover to pay it much mind.

 

"I heard Kelly & Company's looking for someone in the mailroom," he told her as she snickered, knowing he was jesting.

 

"As if," she bantered back impertinently.

 

"Go," he growled good-naturedly as she turned and headed toward the entrance leading back out into the hallway; a few seconds later, a click could be heard as soon as the doors were shut.

 

It took Justin all of about two seconds before he rushed toward Brian and jumped into his arms, almost knocking Brian down in his enthusiasm.  Brian chuckled against Justin's lips as the two reunited lovers deeply kissed, Justin's arms twining around Brian's neck to pull him closer.  An occasional sigh or moan could be heard as they reacquainted themselves with each other, Brian's arms sliding around to Justin's back before they finally had to break off the kiss.

 

Justin shook his head.  "I still can't believe this," he panted out breathlessly, as Brian held him lightly in his arms.  "How?  Now I remember why Centrifuge sounded so familiar earlier.  I heard about it at school; it's one of the largest advertising companies in the Midwest." 

 

Brian smiled.  "Yes, it is. And now Kinnetik is its parent company."  He leaned in to kiss Justin softly on the lips once more before he let him go. 

 

"Oh, my God. I saw Kinnetik's name outside, but I still couldn't quite believe it.  How?" 

 

"Come and sit down," he asked him as Justin followed him over to the couch.  It seemed like the most natural thing in the world when Brian reached for Justin's hand to interlock their fingers together as they turned to face each other, their knees touching.

 

"I still can't believe you're here," Justin marveled, but Brian's fingers laced with his - and the ability to touch, kiss, and hold him again - told him this was no dream.  "Tell me how this happened." 

 

Brian smiled.  "Well, you remember the last time I was here, when you were interviewing for SAIC?"

 

Justin gave him an incredulous look.  "Are you kidding me?  I was sore for a fucking week after that."

 

"I think that might be a slight exaggeration, despite my stamina," Brian countered with a smile.  "But you were _definitely_ well-fucked back then." 

 

"And I plan on being well-fucked this time, too," Justin pointed out as Brian chuckled.  "But first answer the question." 

 

"Such impatience!  I was getting to that, Warhol."  Justin fixed an expectant gaze on him as he explained, "Well, I'd been thinking for some time about branching out into other locations besides my home base."  He couldn't help reaching over with his spare hand to tuck some unruly hair behind Justin's ear, marveling at its softness, before he continued, smiling a little sheepishly over his overtly tender action.  "And besides New York City, I'd had always had my ambitions set on Chicago.  The day you and I met - after you lost your sketchbook in the cab..."

 

"Don't remind me," Justin groaned, his face reddening.  "I need to put a GPS on that damn thing." 

 

Brian grinned. "Good idea!  Although...if it hadn't been for that book, you and I would have never met.  So I happen to consider that book extremely valuable." 

 

Justin blushed, nodding in agreement.  If it hadn't been for the thief at the subway - or his distraction on the way to his interview with SAIC - he would have never gotten to meet the incredibly handsome and talented man that was now sitting next to him, clutching his hand.  It was almost surreal, even now, but he was so thankful that it was all real.  "Very valuable," he murmured softly.  He cleared his throat.  "So you were saying...?" 

 

Brian nodded.  "So...the day you and I met here in Chicago, I had an appointment the next day to meet with Rudy Altmeyer, the owner of _Centrifuge_.  I had read a lot about the company's background, and its clients, and I thought it just might be the ideal way to get my foot in the door.  It's a big company, but was getting stagnant and needed some energy infused into it.  I also knew there were rumblings that the guy wanted to retire and get out of the advertising business, so - armed with my best powers of persuasion, our profit  & loss figures from the past year, and some ideas for a couple of his most lucrative clients - I gave it my best shot.  The asshole made me wait for a week before he gave me a counteroffer to the one I had given him initially, but after a little negotiating we were able to come to a mutually-beneficial agreement, and I relocated here, at least temporarily, to get the newest division of Kinnetik off the ground, along with some of my key staff, including Cynthia.  She can be an out-and-out bitch to me at times, but that's what I like about her. She doesn't pull any punches, and calls me on my bullshit."  He snorted.  "Plus, she's not afraid of me.  That could be a good or a bad thing, I guess.  But in her case, I think it's a good thing.  She's honest and frank, and I need that sometimes." 

 

Justin's head was spinning.  "You...you bought this company?  And you've moved here?  All since we last saw each other?" 

 

Brian nodded with a smile.  "When I see something I want...I don't waste time. Whether it's business - or pleasure - related."  Justin's face warmed, Brian's meaning clear as he stared intently into his eyes.  Both of them leaned closer until their lips met.  It was a gentle kiss that quickly blazed into a passionate one as Brian pushed Justin down onto his back to lie prone on the suede couch, Brian cupping Justin's face in his hands as he stared down into the fathomless, blue eyes that he had longed to see again for so long.  He was about to start unbuttoning Justin's shirt - wanting to see more of that smooth, light-colored skin that he knew was lying beneath, tantalizing him - when Justin gripped his hand to stop him.  "What?" he asked softly, his brow creased in puzzlement as well as a little frustration.

 

"How long?" 

 

"How long is my cock?  Why, Warhol, I thought you knew how long by now.  Ow!" he exclaimed, as Justin smacked him on the head.  "What?"  He grinned at the exasperated expression on Justin's face. 

 

"Quit being a smartass!  I was asking how long will you be here in Chicago?  Just long enough to make sure everything's running properly?"  He was afraid to learn what the answer would be, but he had to know. Would this pattern of them only being able to be together periodically continue?  The long time in between their rendezvous was agony to him, no matter how much he loved attending SAIC.  Would Brian only be here long enough to get his new acquisition off the ground, and then return to Pittsburgh again?  After all, he had friends and his son there.  He knew by now how deeply he loved Gus.  He wouldn't blame him, then, if he decided to head back home soon. 

 

"I'm not sure," was the honest reply that Brian whispered back to him, as he stroked Justin's face with his thumbs.  He saw his lover's face cloud over before he clarified, "But I won't be going home for a while...at least not for a few months."  He smiled as he noticed Justin's face light up then; that smile made his stomach flutter every time.  "I'll still want to go home quite a bit on the weekends to see Gus," he explained.  "Or I'll have him come here.  I think he'd like going to the Children's Museum here, or taking a boat ride out on Lake Michigan. But I'm not going anywhere until I'm sure the latest part of Kinnetik is performing at 110%." 

 

"I'll take you for however long I can," Justin told him, swallowing hard at the thought of being separated again eventually.  "But I'd be lying if I didn't say I wanted you around permanently." 

 

Brian rubbed his cheek against Justin's as he whispered, "I wouldn't mind that myself..." He pulled back as he added, "I've kind of gotten used to you by now."  He grinned as Justin rolled his eyes at him.  His face turned more serious as he asked him, "Justin, have you thought about where you want to be after you graduate?" 

 

His lover huffed at him.  "Brian, I just started school.  I'm a freshman!"  He shrugged.  "Who knows what can happen in four years?  But I DO know one thing." 

 

Brian gazed into his eyes, his desire flaring, along with his frustration, the longer he waited to make love to this beautiful man.  "What's that, Warhol?" he whispered.

 

"Wherever I am, I want us to be together.  I don't know how that will happen.  But this business of just seeing each other on rare occasions really sucks." 

 

Brian nodded with a smirk.  "Well, speaking of sucking..." He began to chuckle as he proceeded in earnest now with unbuttoning Justin's shirt.  A few minutes later, his lover's moans told him that Justin was thoroughly enjoying this particular sucking.


	13. Two Hearts...One LIfe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two men continue to try to find a way to stay together, despite their distance apart. Will they eventually succeed? Story Conclusion!

 

 

 

_Late Afternoon..._

"Brian?" 

 

"Hmm?" 

 

Lying in Brian's arms on the office's couch, Justin murmured sleepily against his lover's chest, "What time is it?"   He loved feeling like he was surrounded by a warm cocoon...and how secure he felt when Brian was holding him.

 

Justin's lips tickling his skin, Brian glanced over at the desk clock before replying, "Almost five. Why?  Have a date tonight?" he quipped.  For just a second, the thought send a pang of jealousy shooting through him, even though he meant it to come off as a teasing remark; after all, he had never contemplated that Justin might have some other admirers - although he definitely could - but at the same time he thought he could read him well enough to know that it wasn't true. At least, he hoped not.  Justin didn't seem like the ‘casual fucking' sort of guy, but then again, it wasn't as if they didn't fit into that category to some extent.  It was certainly not by design, though, and hopefully they could rectify that just a bit in the coming months.  In fact, he planned on spending a LOT of time with Justin as their schedules would allow.  He had never considered Justin a one-time thing for some reason, despite their unorthodox method of meeting initially. 

 

He was relieved, then, when he heard Justin chuckle softly.  "Somebody's jealous," he sing-songed as Brian snorted in an attempt to belittle that thought, but he couldn't come out and actually ridicule that statement.  _Little shit._ Even though they rarely saw each other in person, somehow he knew him better than most, if not all, of his friends that he saw every day. 

 

Justin smiled, pleased at the thought that Brian could actually be jealous, before he responded honestly, "No, you idiot! I _don't_ have a date.  _You're_ the ultimate ‘date.'  How could I top that?" he asked with a smile.   

 

Brian smirked.  "Indeed. Interesting choice of words."  Justin rolled his eyes as Brian paused before stating softly, "Maybe one day."  Justin's eyebrows shot up at that thought before Brian added, "I said _some_ day, Warhol. Anyone who didn't know what "Manhole Cover" meant isn't quite ready for that yet."  He grinned as Justin glared at him before something suddenly occurred to him as they lay there, sated, sticky, and drowsy.  Justin always had that effect on him; well, that, and the simple fact that his stamina, at times, even wore HIM out.  "Where _are_ you staying while you're here in school?  The dorm, I guess?  Or more luxurious quarters befitting your Princess status?"  He chuckled as he deftly caught Justin's arm by the wrist, just before he would have delivered a stinging blow. The man definitely had quick reflexes! 

 

If Justin hadn't been lying down, Brian had no doubt he would have had his hands on his hips by now.  "No, I'm not staying at the Ritz," he told him pointedly as Brian shrugged.  "But...I'm also not staying at the dorms.  Let's just say it's a cross in-between.  It's within walking distance, but it's actually an apartment."

 

"A dive in some beatnik enclave?" 

 

Justin pried himself out of Brian's arms to sit up on the couch, Brian joining him seconds later.  "No!" he told him defiantly.  "It's...not very large," he admitted. "But it's cozy." 

 

Brian smirked.  "I rest my case; any time someone describes their living quarters as ‘cozy,' it's a dive." 

 

"It is not," Justin protested.  "It's in a good neighborhood, and while it might not be the most spacious apartment..."  He paused to look at Brian's smug, ‘ _I told you so'_ expression, before he hastened to add, "But it has a good-sized bedroom, a galley kitchen, and a decent-sized living room.  And a private bathroom.  That's all I need." 

 

"Uh, huh.  Well...you know... it can get really expensive living out of a hotel suite.  I wonder if there might be a more economical option?  You got any ideas?" 

 

Justin turned his head to peer over at his lover, temporarily stunned into silence.  "You mean...you...and me...in MY apartment?"

 

Brian wrapped his arm around Justin's bare shoulder, using his thumb to stroke his lover's skin and sending shivers down the blond's spine.  He shrugged.  "It occurred to me.  We want to spend more time together.  You have your classes, I have this new company to get off the ground.  When else would we see each other?  You DO have a bed, right?"  Justin hesitated.  "Don't tell me.  It's a twin bed whose mattress you picked up at the local Goodwill."   He shuddered at the thought.  Just how far was he willing to go to be with his younger lover?  _Probably anything, you doofus; even that,_ he couldn't help thinking.  And it was true. He would.  That was how badly he wanted to be with him, and the thought astounded him in a way.

 

Justin grinned, trying to concentrate amidst the intense feelings Brian's touch was engendering in him.  "Well, you're close, but no Goodwill mattress. It's a Murphy bed.  And I'll have you know that the mattress is new.  I just bought it." 

 

Brian frowned.  "What the fuck is a Murphy bed?" 

 

Justin played with a lock of Brian's hair as he described what it was.  "It's a bed that folds up flush with the wall, so it's out of sight when not needed.  It helps give me more space." 

 

"Will wonders never cease," Brian deadpanned.  "And just what size IS this Murphy bed?  Big enough for two?" 

 

Justin beamed as he nodded.  "Yeah...It's a queen-sized bed."

 

"How appropriate," was the dry response.   He grinned as Justin glowered at him. "But, still...it might be sufficient." 

 

Justin refused to get his hopes up, but couldn't help fervently wishing that the conclusion he was rapidly jumping to was correct as he asked, " _What_ should be sufficient?" 

 

Brian gazed into the fathomless, blue eyes before he softly explained, "Sufficient enough for two, horny queers to fuck, sleep, and fuck some more on a daily basis."  Before Justin could comment, Brian quickly added, "After all, I believe in comfort, but I'm also thrifty.  Just like the Boy Scouts." 

 

Justin laughed.  "Somehow I think you have _never_ been in the Boy Scouts." 

 

Brian smirked.  "Believe me, if I had known I was gay at that age, I would have been in them, all right." 

 

Justin snorted before what Brian had said really sunk in.  His face broke out into a radiant smile.  "You mean you would move in with me when you could stay at some swanky hotel suite, instead?  Honestly?" 

 

Brian ignored the skipped beat of his heart in reaction, but couldn't help smiling back at him.  "Yeah...I would make the ultimate sacrifice.  My creature comforts in exchange for some hot sex with a not-so-ugly-looking blond. Although...I _have_ seen some pretty good-looking wait staff there, though."  He chuckled as Justin's lips pressed together in agitation.  There was that 'look' again.  "Relax, Warhol. I just love yanking your chain," he explained. 

 

The blond glared at him. "Well, keep it up, _Dean_.  And that will be the ONLY thing you'll wind up yanking." 

 

Brian burst out laughing at the indignant expression on Justin's face. He hadn't heard that nickname for him in quite some time - not since the beginning of their unconventional relationship - but it brought back pleasant memories.  And he fucking loved it whenever Justin gave as good as he got.  He quickly verified with a smile, "Don't worry; you have nothing to be concerned about. It would be hard to match what you give me... _very_ hard."  He reached to grasp Justin's hand and bring it down to his cock. 

 

Justin rolled his eyes, not resisting the urge to squeeze the rapidly-growing flesh under his touch before reluctantly pulling away.  He could feel his own desire flaring once more, but he tamped it down as he admonished him, "Can't you be serious for one moment?  Brian, I really need to know.  Would you be happy living in something that would fit inside your own hotel room, twice over?" 

 

"How do YOU know if it would?  You haven't seen it." 

 

"True," Justin admitted.  "But I know enough about _you_ , and your taste for comfort without even needing to see it.  Let's face, it, Brian.  You will _never_ be on the Holiday Inn Frequent Rewards Program."

 

Brian looked aghast.  "HELL, no!" he agreed.  "But I wouldn't mind being a member of the Justin Taylor Frequent Fuck Program, and living with you would certainly up my point total." 

 

Justin laughed.  "How romantic!  Now we're getting to the bottom of things." 

 

"You got THAT right," Brian deadpanned, tongue planted firmly in cheek.  "And what a bottom it is.  You know, you could market that.  If I could just find a way to advertise it properly..."

 

"My ‘bottom,' as you so quaintly put it, is only interested in being placed on show for one client... _you._ "    

 

"As well it'd better be," Brian growled as he pounced on Justin, pushing him down onto the couch; his lover squealed as Brian proceeded to tickle him around the waist. 

 

"Stop that!" Justin managed to plead with him in between fits of laughter.  Brian gazed into the twinkling eyes of his ‘captive,' and his fingers stilled on the warm skin. 

 

Justin gazed up at him quizzingly.  "Brian?" he asked curiously, wondering why he had stopped, although he could feel the other man's arousal caught between them, and his own cock hardening in response. 

 

Brian peered into his eyes, into that gloriously beautiful face, the words wanting so desperately to emerge.   But he just couldn't for some reason; not those, anyway.  Perhaps he could compromise, though.  "Justin, I really care about you," he whispered. 

 

Justin gazed into his face, seemingly accepting that statement was the best that he could expect from someone like Brian. At least for now.  "I feel the same way," he told him with a smile, although he knew that was just the surface of how he felt.  He knew Brian was the ONE, and how deep his feelings ran.  One day, he would have the chance to freely tell him that. But for now it was enough.

 

Brian let out a sigh of relief.  "Well...now that we have _that_ out of the way, and our living arrangements have been settled, how about we go see what sort of hovel I've talked myself into?"

 

Justin, however, shook his head, not feeling self-conscious at all that they had been cavorting naked in Brian's office suite for what had to have been hours now.  "Not yet." 

 

Brian acted surprised, but he wasn't.  "No?" 

 

Justin shook his head again solemnly.  "No.  Not until we properly christen our agreement."

 

Brian grinned as he swooped in for a brief kiss.  "I think that can be arranged." 

 

* * *

_Epilogue - Four Years Later...Campus of SAIC_

"Justin, will you please stop squirming?  I swear, you're worse than a kindergartner at _their_ graduation!" 

 

Justin huffed as Daphne worked to straighten her friend's tie before using her palms to smooth out the satiny fabric of his graduation gown.  "Will you please stand still?  They're about to line up!" 

 

"I hate wearing this thing!" he whined.  "And why do they have to call it a gown, anyway?" 

 

"Because it's for drama queens?" Brian interjected as he walked into the dressing room where an exasperated Daphne was trying to help his partner get ready.  He grinned as Justin glared at him.  "Is the esteemed artiste getting impatient?"  he asked the young woman.

 

"What do YOU think?" she replied dryly.  She threw her hands up.  "By all means, please take over."  She shook her head.  "I'm glad he only graduates once."  She smirked at her friend.  "He already has the artist temperament down:  sullen and demanding." 

 

"Hey!" Brian chuckled at his lover's indignant reply.  "I just hate all this stuffy shit, that's all."

 

"You go ahead and find us a seat, Daphne.  I'm up to the challenge," Brian assured her.

 

"Gladly," she responded as she pushed some of her thick hair back from her face.  "Good luck! You'll need it!"  She laughed as Justin promptly threw his cap at her before she told him she would see him after the ceremony.  She, Brian, Emmett, Vic and Gus were taking the new graduate out to dinner to celebrate; Brian had initially planned on offering to host it, but to his chagrin Justin had beaten him to the punch.  It was a little hard to admit that someone else had the same sort of financial means as he did, but he appreciated his younger lover including Gus in their party.  Justin had come to love the little boy just as much as he did, and the feeling was mutual with his son.  He adored Justin, who had spent untold hours with him, helping him finger paint, draw; even play in the local park's sandbox with some of his son's toy construction equipment.  Because of that - and the fact that both Mel and Lindsay had met Justin a few times, and had grown fond of him - they had agreed to allow Gus to fly out to Chicago to spend the weekend with his father, who had dispatched Cynthia to accompany him, and who was presently keeping an eye on him until the ceremony was over.

 

Brian walked over to gaze into the crystal blue eyes intently staring back at him.  He reached up to finish knotting Justin's tie, his breath catching at the expressive face. 

 

"Hey, I'm trying to breathe here!" Justin grouched as he reached to loosen the snug knot.  "Are you trying to strangle me?" 

 

Brian grasped Justin's wrist to stop him, earning a decided scowl.  "Ha, don't tempt me!  And don't you dare touch that, Warhol!"  He smirked at him.  "Don't worry; I won't let you suffocate. Do you want to get up there on stage and look disheveled?"  He grinned.  "But I'll be glad to disrobe you later, though."  Justin snorted as Brian briefly stroked his lover's cheek.  "I'm so fucking proud of you," he told him softly, instantly earning a misty-eyed smile in return.

 

"Brian," Justin murmured, grasping his partner's biceps to stand on his tiptoes and deliver a quick reward kiss for his remark.  "Stop it," he gently admonished him, feeling his eyes tearing up.  He let out a deep breath to steady himself, a little nervous about having to speak in front of so many people. When he had first begun his program four years ago, he never in his wildest dreams thought he would have been selected as the keynote student speaker at his graduation, an award given to the person whom the faculty felt was the most promising artist of the graduating class.  "Okay," he told him.  "I'll leave it alone, as long as you make sure you follow up on your promise." 

 

Brian was thankful that they were alone in the cramped space that held the gowns students from SAIC would wear that evening for their graduation.  Not that he would have cared to show any damn person at all exactly how deeply he felt about Justin. But he selfishly realized that he wanted some time alone with him before he had to appear in front of hundreds of fellow graduates, the faculty, their friends, and family.  "Well, you know I always keep my promises.  You'll look downright annihilated by the time _I_ get done with you. And if you want to feel suffocated later, I'll be sure to give you something to wrap your mouth around to give you that nice, full feeling." 

 

Justin's face reddened at the mere thought.  When Brian got into one of his ‘moods' like this, it meant they were in for a marathon of fucking; not that he was complaining. But now he had to try and concentrate on something else, or he would have to explain why he had such a large bulge underneath his graduation gown.  Thank God it wasn't form fitting. At least that was one good thing about what was otherwise a silly-looking satin piece of fabric.  "Fucker," he muttered as Brian gave him a smug look. 

 

"Sorry, it'll have to be later," Brian told him, laughing as Justin harrumphed back at him.  "And who knows?  Maybe I'll even return the favor as your graduation present," he added as Justin's eyes widened.  That didn't happen too often, but when it did, _holy shit_. He could count on one hand how many times he had topped.  "After all, this _is_ a special occasion.  There might be all kinds of surprises coming up," Brian continued mysteriously, enjoying the curious frown on Justin's face.  He glanced up at the clock hanging above the closet door.  "We'd better come out of the closet, or you're going to be late," he joked with him.

 

Justin laughed.  "Nice segue," he told him.  "I think you're a little late for that."  He inhaled another breath, feeling his pulse racing the closer it got to ‘show time.' "Okay; guess I'll just have to trust you."  Brian smiled back at him, pecking him on the lips one last time before they turned to go.  "Where are you guys sitting?" he asked him.

 

"About three rows up in the center," he told him.  "So if you get nervous, just look down at us.  Or, you can use the standard trick, and just imagine all the big, fat, balding professors sitting beside you in their underwear with their pot bellies sticking out, salivating over your ass while you're speaking." 

 

Justin crinkled his nose in distaste.  "Eww.... thanks.  Now I'll have THAT to think about while I'm speaking, too." 

 

"How about I give you something _else_ to think about?" Brian murmured in the rich voice that Justin had first heard, and had come to love over the phone.  He couldn't help leaning in to give Justin a proper kiss this time, even though he knew the coordinator for the ceremony would likely be having an anxiety attack of her own, realizing their featured speaker wasn't on stage yet.  He reluctantly pulled back, noticing a sort of goofy, dazed look on his lover's face, as he shook him slightly by the shoulders to get his attention.  "Come on, Warhol.  Your adoring crowd awaits." 

 

"Including you?"

 

"Don't stretch your luck." He reached down to retrieve Justin's cap and placed it back on the blond head, making sure the tassle was located on the correct, pre-graduation side.  With one last tug on Justin's gown to straighten it out, he smacked his lover on the ass playfully as the two of them headed toward the door leading out into the main hallway.

 

* * *

 

_Later that Evening - Brian's Hotel Suite - Chicago_

Justin gazed out at the skyline of downtown Chicago; it was so different than the view from his much smaller college apartment, the one he would have to vacate by the end of the month.  It wasn't that he would have minded staying there. He had grown fond of the neighborhood, and it held very pleasurable memories of him and Brian spending many pleasant nights there while he had been setting up the new subsidiary office of Kinnetik.  Plus, once Brian had returned to Pittsburgh, it had continued to serve as his partner's home-away-from-home.  Yes, it was rather small, and Brian groused about it. But Justin knew it was mainly to maintain his image, and that he didn't seem to mind; not as long as the two of them were together. It was exactly how he felt, too.  Only now, he would be leaving Chicago permanently, and heading back to New York City, the capital of the U.S. art world. 

 

He sighed, a sound that was not lost on his lover, who walked up to stand behind him and slide his arms around him.  "That's some pretty loud thinking that's going on, Warhol," he whispered in his ear, his breath warm and his voice soothing.  It still made Justin shiver.  He figured Brian would always have some sort of electric effect on him.  He had felt it from the first moment they had seen each other, and from the first instant they had touched.  "What's going on?" 

 

Justin smiled, feeling melancholy.  "Just admiring the view," he told Brian, which was true...to a point. The lights from downtown Chicago reflecting off the water below were breathtaking, and all of them seemed to twinkle like a million stars. 

 

"Me, too," Brian whispered as Justin grinned, knowing he wasn't talking about the same view.  He turned to gaze into his lover's eyes. 

 

"Gus asleep?" he asked.  Brian had booked a large, two-bedroom suite for the three of them; Emmett, Vic, and Daphne having departed earlier to head back home.  _Home_.  He wondered exactly where that was now. The thought of returning to New York City was thrilling in a way; he already had some leads for possible art showings at a few of the smaller galleries there, mainly thanks to his professors, especially Mr. Faberini, who had continued as a sort of mentor to him while he had been in school. But it also meant leaving Brian - _again_.  Every time they were apart, he missed him terribly.  He reflected upon how selfish that sounded. But every time they reunited, it was absolute bliss. And every time they had to part, it was part torture, part hell. 

 

"Yep.  Out like a light.  Clutching that Picasso Bear you bought him."  He chuckled softly.  "And I thought Linus had it bad.  He loves that bear, Justin."   Earlier that day, the three of them had spent some time at the mall downtown, and also at an art supply store a block away; it was Justin's favorite place to go whenever he ventured into the heart of Chicago, and on impulse he had purchased the brown, wirily curled bear with a jaunty beret on his head, a palette in one hand, and an art brush in the other.  Gus had been delighted with it, and hadn't let go of it since then.  To Brian's amusement, his son had even eaten one-handed, so he could hold onto his newest friend.  "You know he even sat that damn bear on top of the toilet seat while he took his bath?" 

 

Justin grinned.  "I'm glad he likes it that much." 

 

"Well, it's more typical for the graduate to get a gift, though; not the other way around." 

 

Brian watched as his lover smiled; that glorious, blazing smile of his that only belonged to HIM as Justin replied, "I already have everything I could possibly want.  You couldn't make this day any better than it already has been."  He turned his head to take in the opulent surroundings.  "I mean, look at this place,  Brian!"  He shook his head as he linked his hands around Brian's neck to pull them closer.  "It's incredible!  But you know what?  As long as I'm here - with you - we could have been in some fleabag hotel on the outskirts of town, and I would have been just as happy."

 

"NOW you tell me!" Brian deadpanned, smacking his head with the heel of his palm in a mock "V-8" moment. "We could have just stayed in your apartment, then."  He laughed as Justin huffed iback at him.  "That is...if your lease wasn't up."  Brian was quiet for a few moments before he revealed, "Well, no matter.  I got the next Andy Warhol a proper gift, anyway."  He noticed Justin's eyes light up at the thought, and a smile break out on his face, reminiscent of a young boy on Christmas morning.  He briefly thought of how his chance meeting with this amazing man had been the best present anyone could had ever received - and how HE had gotten the best gift of all - before he turned and headed into their bedroom, emerging a moment later with a small, flat package in his hand, which he gave to Justin.  "Open it," Brian urged him, watching him closely to gauge his reaction.  What he was about to do was break every rule he had ever made for himself, but to his astonished surprise, he found that it didn't make him nervous.  At least, not _that_ part, anyway.  Perhaps what DID make him anxious was what Justin's reaction would be as he watched him study the unique wrapping.

 

His heart beating like a trumpet at a high tempo, Justin sat down on the couch to scrutinize the object - wrapped in what appeared to be a cartoon page.  He wanted to tear right into the wrapping to see what treasure it held inside, but forced himself, instead, to carefully remove the outside paper as if it, too, were a gift.  He found himself wanting to preserve every bit of his time with Brian; hell, he even had the first rose he had given him, pressed into one of his favorite art books back home (although he would never tell HIM that; he figured he would think that was far too sentimental and foolish). Finally, the folded cartoon page fell away, and he was able to see what it held inside:  a expensive but simple, butter leather sketchbook with a gold-trimmed, scrolled edge.  He ran his fingers over the smooth surface, enjoying the feel of the luxurious leather exterior, and couldn't help smiling in awe.  "Brian..."  He lifted his head to peer into the now familiar hazel eyes.  "It's beautiful."  He recognized the high quality of the object he held in his hands. 

 

"I'm glad you like it," Brian murmured, his own heart thumping nervously. 

 

"But aren't you worried that I'll lose this one, too?" Justin teased. 

 

"Oh, I took care of that," Brian told him mysteriously, earning a frown in return.  "Open the front cover."  He held his breath as he watched his lover do as he was instructed, noticing his eyes widen as he read the small, gold, metallic plate that had been attached with rivets to the upper left-hand corner of the book: 

 

 

He watched as Justin groaned.    "Did you have to use THAT email address?"  He felt his face warm in embarrassment.  He had been so naive back then.

 

"Well, I thought it was appropriate...under the circumstances," he explained as Justin rolled his eyes, glancing down at the label again.  He waited a few seconds more before he noticed Justin's expression changing, and then he knew.  He knew that _Justin_ knew. 

 

"Brian... This isn't my address in New York City," he observed.  "What...?"  Justin shook his head as he reread the address.  "I don't understand..." 

 

Brian took a deep breath to reinforce his fortitude as he explained, "Well, if I'm going to open another branch of Kinnetik in New York City, I figured I needed a proper working space to start out in, rather than trying to work out of a hotel suite."  He exclaimed, "It was hard enough to get the one here in Chicago off the ground!  It won't be easy," he continued before Justin could respond, "...but it's always been a dream of mine.  To play with the big fish in the biggest advertising pond of all.  Shit, apartment rentals are so fucking expensive in New York City, though!  I may have to start out in Chelsea or Hell's Kitchen, but it doesn't matter.  What matters is that we're in the same city together."  He brushed his hand through his hair anxiously.  "Justin?  What are you thinking?  I was hoping this was what you wanted... I'm tired of us only getting to see each other occasionally, and Mel and Lindsay have agreed to let me have Gus every other weekend, and also for an extended time during his breaks from school.  I mean, I can't have him going back and forth while he's still a..."

 

He didn't get to finish his statement before Justin jumped into his arms and plastered his lips against his, linking his arms around Brian's neck, the book still clutched tightly in his hand.  It would be several seconds before they broke for air, and could continue their conversation.  "I take it you're okay with me moving to New York City?" he observed wryly as they finally ended their kiss.  He was vastly relieved.  He had hoped that would be his reaction, but until now he hadn't been sure. 

 

"Brian... Are you kidding me?  Of _course_ I'm okay with it!"  He paused for a moment as he thought about all the implications.  "But this is a pretty serious step.  Are you sure you're doing this for YOU?  That it's the best thing for you?"

 

"I don't say anything I don't mean, Justin.  Ever."  He paused before adding, "It may take me a while to get there.  But I never say anything unless I mean it.  So...you're all right with my decision, too? With us being in the same place all the time?" 

 

Justin grinned.  "Well, yes... and no."  He noticed the look of confusion on his lover's face as he explained," Brian...you don't need to look for a place to live!  My God, my father's penthouse has enough room to fit an entire commune!  Even with the wait staff, my father way overdid our living space when he bought the apartment.  There is NO need for you to look for a place to live.  Why go to that expense, especially when you're trying to get Kinnetik off the ground?  This way, you can concentrate on building up your company in New York city during the day..."

 

Brian smiled as he finished his sentence, "...and concentrate on YOU at night."  Justin's smile widened as Brian grinned back at him.  "I like the way you think, Warhol.  Sure you don't want to come work for ME?  I need creative talent that thinks outside the box." 

 

"Tempting," Justin admitted.  "But you know that's not where my heart lies, Brian.  Plus, I suspect we wouldn't get a lot of work done...would we?" 

 

Brian grinned.  "Perhaps you're right about that.  And...I know," Brian replied softly.  "That would be a waste of talent." 

 

"But..."  Justin gazed back at him with an impish look on his face.

 

Brian lifted an eyebrow as he waited for Justin to answer.  "But...?" 

 

"...but that doesn't mean we still can't do a little brainstorming at night, or on the weekends.  That is, in between 'other activities' that might otherwise keep us preoccupied.  My father always insisted on the best quality," he told Brian.  "Whether it was employees, products, or even how much insulation there was between the walls of our apartment.  He was a perfectionist in every sense of the word."  Perhaps that was why it had been so hard at times for his father to demonstrate his love for him, even though he knew he did.   

 

Brian nodded solemnly as he pulled Justin closer into his embrace.  "Well, you can never have enough insulation between the walls.  Especially when someone makes more noise than a subway train when they're being fucked," he teased as Justin turned red in the face.  He couldn't help if it Brian brought out so much pleasure in him, and he couldn't hold back his vocal expression of his ‘gratitude.' 

 

Brian's face grew more serious, though, as he asked, "Justin, are you sure?  About all of this?  I mean, I know _I'm_ sure about opening up another office of Kinnetik in New York City no matter what. But the rest of it is negotiable."  Indicating how he felt was always so damn difficult for him to express aloud (in fact, had he _ever_ been this open with anyone else besides his son), but he forged ahead anyway.  "I just want us to be closer than the nearest computer for a change, or just conveniently in the same city for a while.  Web cams are so overrated, especially when you have the real thing in your arms." 

 

Justin blushed.  Just being able to actually kiss and touch Brian so frequently while he had been in school had only made him crave more.  How could he ask for anything more than for him and Brian to be in the same city on a permanent basis?  And not just any city; New York City.  The epicenter of art and commerce.  It was a perfect match.  THEY were a perfect match; at least in his opinion.  "Brian, I couldn't be more sure of anything.  Yes.  I want it.  I want YOU.  Move in with me.   It makes perfect business sense."

 

"Just _business_ sense, Warhol?" Brian asked quietly. 

 

Justin reached up with his free hand to lay his palm against his lover's cheek.  "You know there's a lot more to it than that."  He blinked back the moisture in his eyes as he hoarsely whispered, his voice thick with emotion, "Brian, it's a dream come true.  I can have my art...and _you._ Together in one place. Something I never thought would be possible.  I _still_ can't believe it.  But it makes me happier than you will ever know." 

 

Brian reached up to grasp Justin's hand, kissing the knuckles before bringing both their hands to rest on his chest.  "I wouldn't be so sure about that," he whispered back.  "I think I know exactly how you're feeling."  He swallowed hard.  Reaching to gently extract his gift from Justin's hand to place it down on a table nearby, he took Justin by the hand and led him over to the suite's couch so they were sitting facing each other.  Justin lifted his eyes to gaze into his expectantly.  Justin's face was also so open, so indicative of how he was feeling, and the love that he could see so clearly shining back at him provided him with the courage he needed to speak from his heart.  To finally, at last, tell this remarkable, beautiful, intelligent man how he felt.  He shook his head slightly in amazement before he took a deep breath.  "Justin...That book I just gave you.  It's the best money can buy. It's shiny.  It's new.  It was expensive."  Justin harrumphed in a sort of ‘was there ever any doubt?' type of sound as Brian shrugged back at him.  "But if I had to choose between that book, or that threadbare one that was left on the subway, I would choose the first one every time. Because that book...that damn, elusive sketchbook that was almost a part of you, of who you are...that sketchbook that gave me my first glimpse of you; that's what led to us meeting.  And it was also the catalyst for making me do something that I never in my wildest dreams thought that I would ever do."  He rolled his lips under, suddenly feeling almost shy.  Definitely awkward.

 

Justin's breath hitched over the words spilling out of his lover's mouth.  "What...what is that?" he asked, as Brian reached to grasp his other hand in his.

 

_Oh, shit,_ Brian thought as he gazed into the depth-less, blue eyes boring into his.  They made him both intimidated in a way by their unwavering steadfastness in refusing to look away, but they also emboldened him at the same time.  Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself.  _Just say it, you coward._ "It made me fall in love with you," he finally verbalized out loud as he let pure adrenalin take over.  It was something he had known for some time, but until now he had never had the courage to say it.  He was relieved to see a radiant smile break out on Justin's face immediately afterward, and even though he hadn't said a word to him yet, he knew.  Yes, he _knew.  
_

But it still felt wonderful when Justin swallowed hard before responding, "God, I love you too, Brian.  So much.  If I had known about you before, I would have lost that sketchbook a long time ago; at least temporarily, anyway," he amended as Brian laughed with pure joy. 

 

The two men then met of one accord as they fell into each other's arms, clinging to each other as if they would never let go, and both of them sure that somehow their lives would be entwined for a long time to come. 

 

And they were.  Brian's company grew and flourished as each year went by, while Justin's reputation and talent slowly became more and more well known. And each day before Justin awakened (because he was always the sleepyhead between the two of them), he would find one, long-stemmed, single red rose on the nightstand next to his bed.  And he treasured each one - as well as the man whose fate had intermingled with his on that one, fateful day at the subway.  New York City was, indeed, a wonderful town. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see my note regarding Ch. 9. I had somehow omitted that chapter when I was posting this. I have since inserted it in the proper place, and apologize for the confusion. Thank you for reading, and for your support.


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